


The Great Marvel Crossover Project

by I_Have_An_Inkling, MisteriosaSaky, Opalalchemy, SHIELD Super Nanny (DreamOfStories), Tsukiriver



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Naruto, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Borderline crack, Borrowed SI-oc, Collaborative fic, Demons, Dreaming of Sunshine - Freeform, Drug Use, Drug recovery, Gen, Humour, Kidnapping, Mood Whiplash, Mutants, OC, Twins, We are all insane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5088881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Have_An_Inkling/pseuds/I_Have_An_Inkling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisteriosaSaky/pseuds/MisteriosaSaky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalalchemy/pseuds/Opalalchemy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamOfStories/pseuds/SHIELD%20Super%20Nanny, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsukiriver/pseuds/Tsukiriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nara Shikako shouldn't have been born into Naruto (or maybe she should have been, who knows?) and she almost certainly shouldn't have been born into the Marvel Universe. But she was, and come what may, she is going to do her damn best to make sure that both her and Remy survive this crazy world. (Borrowed SI-OC fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dreaming of Sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/53648) by Silver Queen. 



Prologue

by Ally Haert

"I don't like this Jean, something's wrong," Clemente murmured for the third time. His dark eyes made another circuit of the room and he shifted nervously on the balls of his feet. "We should have-"

"Ta gueule," Jean-Luc didn't even spare a glance over his shoulder, utterly focused on picking the lock in his hands.

His fingers twitched gracefully through delicate taps and soft nudges, guiding the tumblers into place. It was taking him much longer than it should have. The old man switched out the lock, Jean-Luc thought with a grimace.

Damn this job to hell, it had been nothing but bad luck from the start. Flat tires, rotating guards, paranoid millionaires. The lock changing on the day of the heist, though, that was worse than mere luck. Much worse. If the lock had been replaced it could only mean one thing – someone knew they were coming.

Jean-Luc pursed his lips and ignored the drop of sweat that dripped a slow path down his brow.

"-should have left once we noticed the guards were swapped out," Clemente finished darkly. "Everything about this job has been wrong from the start. Every fucking part of it. What the hell is taking so long?"

A shadow fell across the face of the lock as Clemente leaned down for a better look. Jean-Luc was about to turn around and snap at him to get back on lookout when a deafening bang cut him short.

Broken glass exploded out from the window above their heads, showering down in a spray of glittering debris. Jean-Luc instantly dropped to the floor, hands coming up to cover his head as he rolled until his back faced the wall. He cringed, waiting for the spray of bullets to rain down...but the room was silent.

He cautiously raised his head and what he saw made his stomach drop out in terror.

"Clemente!" His brother lay motionless on the floor where he had been standing moments earlier. "Clemente! Clemente!"

"Unh," Clemente rolled over with a groan, finally a sign of life. Jean-Luc's relief was short lived when blood started pouring out of the hole in Clemente's chest.

"No, no, no," Jean-Luc scrambled over and desperately tried to stem the flow with trembling hands, but it was futile. Blood gushed between his fingers in warm spurts to pool on the floor between them. Clemente's eyes were so wide they had a full ring of white round the rim and the look he sent Jean-Luc was brimming with terror.

"Jean."

"Don't talk! We've got to- to-"

"Jean."

"Help! Someone help us!"

"The red...horse..."

"HELP!" Jean-Luc roared at the sound of swiftly approaching people. When the door handle turned and a large woman in uniform burst through, Jean-Luc began crying in earnest. "Help us, please!"

"What are you– How did you get in here?!"

"He's been shot, please," he begged.

Her eyes widened in shock as the situation sank in. Without another question she turned and ran back out the door, screaming for help. A weak hand wrapped around his wrist and Jean-Luc looked back down into his brother's pale face.

"It's in...the red...horse..."

"Clemente enough! Help is coming," he was sobbing now and he couldn't stop.

"Tell her...tell her..."

The hand around his wrist went limp and dropped into the puddle of blood with a sickening splash.

"Clemente? Clemente! Clemente!"

When help returned they found him curled around his brother's body, his wretched sobs muffled in the dead man's shoulder.

No one moved them, no one spoke and in that quiet moment Jean-Luc learned a simple truth.

One of the hardest parts about Death is how suddenly it comes.

-/-

Jean-Luc stood next to his father in a black suit and watched as the casket was interred in the family mausoleum. When the door was sealed with a final thud, his father reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

People filtered away and left the two men to their grief.

With a small sound and a final pat on the back, even his father left.

Jean-Luc stared at the crypt with unfocused eyes and wondered if it would always feel like this.

Alone.

-/-

He didn't think of Clemente's last words until almost a full year later.

Times had not been kind to the Thieves, with the loss of one of the Patriarch's sons and the fact that the rival clans had been discontent.

Marcel LeBeau, leader of the Thieves and father to Jean-Luc and the late Clemente, had been a fearsome crime lord in his youth. He had carried New Orleans through the Great Depression, through prohibition and through three wars. His name alone had driven away all thought of competition.

New Orleans was changing, growing bigger by the day. Things could get bad anywhere in the world but here in this city, life seemed to prosper under Marcel's watchful eye. But these weren't the days of Marcel's youth and, eventually, even his reputation couldn't dampen the temptation of The Big Easy.

Nobody was really sure exactly when the Assassins came, but by the start of the War in 'Nam it was clear they were in New Orleans to stay.

Jean-Luc seethed with bitter rage. Why hadn't his father done anything to repel the Assassins before now? If he had just taken the threat more seriously they wouldn't be locked in this damned turf war.

He'd told his father in so many words and the shouting match that resulted had been truly magnificent. Jean-Luc stormed down the hall when he couldn't stand it any longer, cursing as he went.

He slammed one final door and was shocked to find himself standing in Clemente's room.

"Putain," he froze. It was jarring to be standing here, after so much time had passed. A wave of grief gripped his chest, fresh and painful.

It looked exactly the same, as if Clemente just nipped out for a bite to eat and could stroll back through the door at any moment. He had done that a lot more near the end – late nights out on the town without any of the family.

Jean-Luc meandered forward, eyes roaming hungrily around the room. He carefully lowered himself onto the bed and sighed. A flash of color on the bedside table caught his eye. He looked over and what he saw there made him freeze.

A small figurine. A small, red figurine.

A red horse.

He lifted it with numb fingers as Clemente's last words ran through his mind. He turned it over a few times before the light caught on the faintest of seams around the horse's middle. Jean-Luc fiddled with it for a moment, twisting it gently until the horse slipped open with a soft pop.

Inside was a yellowed piece of paper with an address on it.

-/-

Clemente had a wife.

He had a wife in a sweet little cottage.

Jean-Luc watched her from the shade of a neighbor's porch and tried not to vomit.

She was a delicate looking thing with perfect blonde curls and sad eyes. He waited until she left her home.

He broke in.

-/-

Her name was Marie.

He ran his hands over her blouses and nearly cried when he found a pair of Clemente's old boots still resting in her closet.

All over her house his brother's things remained.

She hadn't put them away.

Jean-Luc opened a final door and the blood froze in his veins. A nursery.

He fled.

-/-

"Smile, Jean, you look fit to murder someone," Marcel murmured out of the corner of his mouth. He raised the champagne glass to his lips and caught the eye of two young ladies across the way.

He grinned charmingly at them and they tittered and waved coyly back.

"I will murder someone if he keeps us waiting any longer," Jean-Luc snarled. "What the hell is he playing at?"

"Calm yourself, boy," Marcel frowned when the young ladies picked up on Jean-Luc's mood and shuffled nervously away. "It's all posturing. Walk into this one angry and you'll be robbed blind. Remember rule ten: 'Always stay calm on a'-"

"Why are we even here?" Jean-Luc rounded on his father, unable to contain it any longer. "Why the fuck did you even agree to this meeting? Those conards killed Clemente! We should– "

"Enough!" Marcel cut him off with a growl. "Do. Not. Cause. A. Scene."

Jean-Luc bit his cheek, vibrating with suppressed rage. People were shooting the two curious glances. Marcel let out a soft puff of breath and smiled at the onlookers before lowering his voice even further.

"Boudreaux invited us here after months of negotiating. This Krewe Ball is neutral ground and I will not see you ruin our first real chance at a treaty with the Assassins because of your childish vendetta. Now," Marcel turned cold eyes on Jean-Luc and raised his voice just enough for others around them to hear. "Go find a nice girl and enjoy the open bar."

Marcel strolled away, leaving a stunned Jean-Luc behind.

Childish vendetta? Childish vendetta?!

Jean-Luc balled his fists in rage and he got one step toward his father's retreating back before a hand reached out to grab him.

"Fuck off!" Jean-Luc shook the hand off and whirled around angrily, ready for a fight. He jerked to a stop awkwardly when he met the empty gaze of a blind girl.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Uh," Jean-Luc looked over his shoulder but he couldn't see his father anywhere. The ballroom was growing more crowded by the hour, vibrant dresses and gay masks adorning each new person that arrived. He cursed in frustration and turned back to the girl with a frown. "Look, petite, I don't have –"

"He won't listen. Not right now, at least," her voice was deep and husky. Her milky eyes gazed off somewhere over Jean-Luc's shoulder and he shook off the unsettling notion that she was looking towards Marcel.

"Cher, you don't know me and you sure as hell don't know what-"

"Did you find the red horse yet?"

Jean-Luc could feel his heart stop.

The orchestra swelled and around the two, couples began pairing off to dance.

Jean-Luc stood frozen in place, unable to breath.

"Wh...what?"

"Ah, so that's already happened," she nodded to herself, face set in a grim expression. "Well, it's not too late yet. It'll just be a bit more difficult for you now."

"What did you say?" Jean-Luc could feel his heart kick into a racing gallop. His hands jerked out to grip her by the shoulders and blood started pounding in his ears.

He hadn't told anyone about the red horse figurine. No one.

"There isn't much time, LeBeau, so pay attention. You will be the new Father of the Thieves within the week and unless you find the child, you and your entire family are going to be wiped out in the coming war."

"Who told you about the horse?"

"The child will lead the Thieves into victory. You need that child or all will be lost. The weapon, the school, the army...it will all come after. But none of it will come without the child."

"The child? What the hell are you talking about? Who the fuck are you?" Jean-Luc shook her shoulders in growing rage.

"The child has the Eyes of the Devil and will walk the middle path. If you want to find the child, look for the eyes. You'll know it when you see it."

"You're insane," he shoved her away in bitter disgust. "Fuck off."

"This isn't about your nephew."

Jean-Luc lunged for her throat and lifted. She grabbed at his wrists with a startled cry and scrambled for purchase against the floor with the tips of her toes. Jean-Luc marched her backwards through a startled crowd, completely uncaring of the scene he was causing.

He reached the back wall and threw her at it, so that she would have lost her balance and fell. His hands whipped out to grab her roughly by the upper arms and he held her up. His face was inches from hers and when he finally spoke his voice dripped with death.

"You have ten seconds to convince me not to kill you."

"I'm trying to help you!" her voice rose shrilly. Jean-Luc snarled.

"How do you know about Etienne? Are you with the Assassins? Is this some stupid fucking way of threatening me?" he could feel his anger grow by the second. This was just like the Assassins, those honorless vermin. "Who told you about my nephew?"

"We don't have time for this, please! You need to listen to me LeBeau! Our lives are in danger and it all comes back to this point. You must find the child!"

"'Our' lives? Who the fuck are you with, lady?"

"I can't," her voice wobbled a bit and she started to look genuinely scared for the first time since they had started talking. "That's not my story to tell. Not yet. Look, please, I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm trying to help you."

Jean-Luc almost turned at the sound of Marcel calling his name. He watched the woman as tears gathered in her eyes and her breathing started to speed up. Begrudgingly he leaned back a bit and she seemed to let out a shaky breath of relief.

"Talk," he ordered.

"You must find the child with the Eyes of the Devil and you must raise it as your own. Do this, and the Thieves will survive. Fail to do this, and we all will die. And that's not a threat – that's a promise."

Jean-Luc couldn't get a read on her and it was starting to make him nervous.

"Petite...I think you've had too much to drink," his voice was shaky and low. He ignored his Father's call once more, though Marcel's voice had drawn a good deal closer.

"I know you will need proof and I'm sorry, so sorry, but it's only going to cause you pain," she reached out to touch his chest with a soft brush of her fingertips. "Tonight you will watch as the snake eats the fox. In that hour you'll understand another truth about death."

Marcel's voice was just behind them now. Jean-Luc couldn't begin to process what this crazy girl was saying, but something in her garbled message must have been getting through because a pit of dread was starting to settle deep in his chest.

"And what truth would that be?"

"That one of the hardest things about Death is how preventable it can be," her face fell and the tears began slow tracks down her cheeks.

A large hand fell on Jean-Luc's shoulder, gripping him tightly.

"Pardon us, cherie, but I must take your gentleman away! We have business to attend to I'm afraid. Jean, say your farewells for the evening."

Jean-Luc let his hands drop and took a trembling step away from the girl. The moment she was released she fled with a whimper.

Marcel watched her go with a frown.

"Jean?"

"Yes, father?" Jean-Luc stared at the spot where the girl had disappeared into the crowd and tried to ignore how the hand on his shoulder felt heavy and rough.

"I take it back. Don't bother any more ladies tonight."

-/-

Raymond Boudreaux was a proper Southern gentleman.

He wore long suits in fine imported silks and talked with a charming Georgian drawl. His mustache was curled into a tidy point and the blonde hair upon his head was always carefully combed into place. Despite the fact that his stride was perfect, he walked everywhere with a dark, wooden a cane. Atop the cane was a golden snake head with diamonds for eyes. From his pocket hung a watch on a long, golden chain.

He didn't look like the reigning father of the world's deadliest criminal gang. That was entirely the point.

Jean-Luc would have refused these peace talks point blank. Marcel was going soft.

The Thieves had been Lords of New Orleans long before Raymond fucking Boudreaux had ever turned a stray thought to the city and poisoned it's ranks with his Assassins.

Jean-Luc refused to shake the man's hand and ignored the warning look Marcel shot him.

They sat around a tea table on a private balcony somewhere far away from the boisterous crowds. Frogs croaked loudly in the gardens down below and Jean-Luc poured every ounce of his self control into not launching across the table to beat the man with his bare hands.

"You're looking well, Marcel."

"Not at all, Ray, not at all. It's just this wonderful streak of sunshine we've been having..."

Jean-Luc turned away from the conversation in disgust.

In his mind he pictured two milky eyes and the dire warning of the girl who owned them.

Negotiations moved swiftly. After a certain point, maps were brought and territories were plotted out. There were rules and articles that were quibbled over, yet both Patriarchs remained pointedly silent on their terms.

Jean-Luc watched lightning bugs blinking lazily across the fields below and he suddenly couldn't stand it. It was such bullshit, all of it.

This empty building filled with meaningless, simpering crowds dressed in gaudy costumes. These two men sipping tea at a table and pretending to be friends.

Everything was a lie. Everything was shallow.

He stood up in disgust, unable to bear it a moment longer.

"Going somewhere, Mr LeBeau?" Raymond looked politely interested and Jean-Luc wanted to reach over the table and smack him.

"Ah, my son has been in the drink I'm afraid. But no worries, I will see him safely home. Enjoy the rest of the ball, Raymond," Marcel stood as well, sketching a polite bow towards the other man.

Jean-Luc was already threading his way back through the ballroom floor when his father caught up to him. Without a word, Marcel grabbed him solidly by the upper arm and steered him towards the grand staircase.

They strode down the marble steps in silence and before they had even properly reached the curb, a long, sleek car pulled round in front of them. The driver hopped out and helped them in.

The moment the doors shut Marcel turned on Jean-Luc with a growl, "Just what the hell was that, Jean? I expect more than that from you. Fuck!" He blew the last word out explosively and seemed to collapse back against his seat, his anger spent before it really started.

That niggling voice in the back of Jean-Luc's head started up. He had missed something.

"You're damned lucky we were done with our business, boy, because I've had about as much of your rebellion as I can take," Marcel rubbed his face tiredly. "I'm getting too old for this."

He'd missed something. What had he missed?

"Jean, you can't behave like this. I won't always be around to handle the politics for you, and Raymond Boudreaux isn't just one, single man. He is a part of something greater, something that isn't going to go away. Either the Thieves learn to adapt or –"

"The price," Jean-Luc breathed out softly.

" –The what?"

"You never set a price," now that he'd said it out loud, Jean-Luc grew more confident. The two men in charge of the biggest criminal families the South had ever seen had just spent hours arguing over maps and rules and taxes and laws. Neither one of them had ever mentioned conditions. Jean-Luc turned to his father with a hard look in his eyes. "This peace treaty...what are you gaining from it?"

Marcel didn't look surprised. He was far too good for that.

But to someone who knew him well, the small beat of silence before he answered was very telling.

"Price? What are you on about, Jean? You weren't really paying attention tonight, were you."

"You'd never agree to this unless you were gaining something from it. So what was your price?"

Something dark flashed through Marcel's eyes. Something like guilt.

Suddenly it was like Jean-Luc was thrown backwards through the night's events, watching them play through his mind like a movie reel in reverse.

"What was your price?"

The guilt in his father's eyes.

"I won't always be around."

"I'm getting too old for this."

The snake atop Raymond's cane.

The way they used each other's first names.

A crying girl trapped against the wall.

"Tonight you'll watch the snake eat the fox."

"Tonight you'll understand another truth about Death."

Another truth about Death.

"Father," Jean-Luc's voice shook. He didn't want to know. He had to know. "Father..."

"Jean, you've had a long night. Let's finish this later, no?" Marcel looked positively frightened now and he turned to knock on the black divider that separated the passengers from the driver. Jean-Luc grabbed his arm and pinned it to the seat.

"Jean!"

"What," Jean-Luc's voice was soft and he couldn't stop the tears from gathering in the corners of his eyes, "was your price?"

Marcel's face fell and his mouth shut with a soft, broken noise.

And Jean-Luc knew.

Someone had sabotaged Clemente and Jean-Luc's final job. Someone who knew.

"No," Jean-Luc whispered.

"Jean, please, it's not what you're thinking-"

"No."

"Jean-"

"NO!" Jean-Luc lunged with a roar. Tears streamed down his face as his hands closed around his father's neck. "Murderer! You killed him!"

Marcel tugged at Jean-Luc's wrists, eyes bulging as his face flushed an alarming shade of purple.

"You took us in, both of us!" Jean-Luc was weeping now, fingers turning white where they crushed the man's windpipe. "You raised us! You raised him! He was my brother!"

Marcel was beating at his forearms in desperation, body jerking and bucking underneath him. Jean-Luc waited until the man started to weaken before he released his grip and collapsed onto his father, sobbing brokenly into his chest.

"You killed him, you killed him, oh god," Jean-Luc sobbed brokenly, clinging to his Father's chest like a child.

Marcel gasped, great heaving breaths as his whole body shook. Several minutes passed before he slowly lifted his hands to stroke his son's hair.

"I know, I know. Shh, I'm here, it's alright. I'm here," Marcel held his boy and knew it was the end.

-/-

Marcel LeBeau never lived to the age of seventy.

They say he passed peacefully in his sleep, the night after the best Mardi Gras in the history of New Orleans.

Jean-Luc stood in front of the mausoleum once again.

Alone.

-/-

If you asked Jean-Luc to tell you about Death, he would tell you this:

The hardest part about Death is the mess it causes for those left behind.

-/-

If you asked Ginger LeDoux about death, she would probably be too high to understand.

Life hadn't been kind to Ginger.

She lived from one bump to the next, always searching for her next high. When she was young and beautiful it had been easy to score her drugs.

Sex for a hit.

It was a simple trade, and one that Ginger made many times.

After the pregnancy it became harder. The highs never lasted and the drugs stopped working. She spent many cold nights wandering the gutters, clutching her stomach and vomiting. Surely she would die from it.

The shakes from the withdrawal made it harder and harder. Her hair started falling out and her belly swelled. People stopped offering. They started steering around her, avoiding her path on the sidewalk.

For a while there at the end of the pregnancy, Ginger cleaned up and thought about being a mother.

She didn't know the first thing about kids, but maybe...maybe...

And then they came. Two little babies with hideous, demon eyes.

She'd done this. She'd done this to her babies.

Ginger didn't know a lot about death, but she knew plenty about heroin.

-/-

Cameron stumbled into the hotel room behind the woman, laughing and slapping at her naked backside. He'd met her down at Rizzo's jazz place, a little hole in the wall joint.

His contact never showed and he was about to give up the night as a loss and head back to the guild. But as he stood to leave, who should wander up to buy him a drink but little miss redhead here?

Sure, she looked a little on the 'used up' side of things, but she was turning out to be one hot lay.

Cameron helped her wrestle her clothes off and they stumbled toward the hotel bed.

Things were about to progress when a soft sound made Cameron tense. His head shot up and he scanned the room.

"Who-"

"It's just the brats, baby. Come on, give me some sugar," Ginger rubbed up against him with a lewd purr, but Cameron wasn't listening.

Sitting on the other side of the room in a worn crib were two babies.

Two babies with pure black eyes.

"What the fuck?!" Cameron shot up off the woman, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight.

One of the babies was sucking on it's thumb and blinking dumbly around the room.

The other was watching him. Black, shining eyes with dark green irises followed his every move.

"Holy shit! What the hell is wrong with those kids?"

Things didn't go too well for Ginger or Cameron after that.

-/-

"- And you should have seen it, I mean, I've seen some shit ya know? But this was freaky as hell."

Jean-Luc ran through the numbers in the ledger one more time, trying to find the discrepancy. He was absolutely awful at keeping the books but he couldn't afford to retain an accountant anymore.

The money his father had left behind was dwindling and if something didn't change real soon, the Thieves might not be able to keep their territories secure this winter.

"Whatever, Cam, you stick your dick in crazy all the time. What have I told you about sticking your dick in crazy?"

"It wasn't her, you moron! It was these two kids she had."

"What, like, they were right there in the room with her?"

Jean-Luc tried to block out the chatter of the men behind him with increasing difficulty. He had come down to the kitchen for a break and somehow those damned books had followed him. Perhaps it was time to head back up to his office.

"Yeah. Right there. And one of them was watching us, you know?"

The men in the room jeered at that, laughing loudly.

"No, but you didn't see them. They had these eyes. Like...demon eyes. Eyes of the Devil."

"What did you just say?"

The books tumbled out of Jean-Luc's fingers and spilled across the floor. Everyone froze and turned to stare at the boss.

-/-

Remy wasn't sure about all this noise.

First his mom had screamed. Big men came through the door and mommy had screamed. That wasn't very nice.

Then Renée had grabbed his hand and squeezed. She was frightened, he could feel it. And that wasn't very nice either.

One of the men came over to their crib. Remy could feel the man's excitement and anger and greed and so many things he didn't have a word for. That wasn't very nice.

Mommy ran out of the room and didn't come back.

The men started talking. Then they started shouting.

Remy got sleepy so he laid down and tried to rest.

He felt himself get lifted up, out of the crib. He watched the big man yell at the others. Then the big man settled him against his chest for a warm cuddle. That part was nice.

But the worst part came right after.

They started walking toward the door, away from the room. Remy's head shot up in distress because they were all leaving. And Renée was still in the crib.

Remy screeched in fright, chubby little hand stretching back toward his sister. The man kept walking and Remy began to cry in earnest.

He squirmed. He wanted down! Now!

But the man kept walking and they were almost out the door.

Remy stretched until he could see over the man's shoulder.

Renée was watching him. She stood at the edge of the crib, not making a sound.

Remy lifted a hand and cried. The door shut.

She was gone.

-/-

Charles Xavier shot up with a shuddering gasp.

He'd seen a baby, he'd heard- he'd heard-

He took a deep breath, trying to orient himself. What was that? It had been something. Something powerful...

A twinge in his back almost brought him to his knees.

With a cry of pain he fell forward to grip the sofa.

When had he fallen asleep? He had dreamt something. What was it again?

"You okay Charles? I thought I heard..." Hank hung in the doorway to the parlor, voice wavering uncertainly.

"What? Oh," Charles looked down at his soiled pajamas and frowned. When was the last time he'd bathed?

"Charles?" Hank took a step into the room, worry escalating.

"Medicine. Just need more medicine," he waved Hank off with a mumble.

"I- alright, yeah, I'll go make sure you have enough," Hank strolled away.

Charles wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaky hand. He blew out a cool breath and lowered himself onto the couch once more, waiting for Hank's return.

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift hazily.

Just before sleep took him he remembered the strangest part of his dream.

A pair of black eyes.

-/-

There are a lot of people in New Orleans who learn about Death. About how cruel Death is. About how swift Death is, or how painful.

Sitting alone in a dirty motel room is one little girl who could probably tell you the most shocking thing of all.

The worst part about Death is being reborn.

~~~-/-~~~


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Perspective and Memory  
By TsukiRiver

 

In the earliest stages of life memory is a strange thing. 

It is fickle and fleeting while at the same time long lasting and capable of shaping who we are, and who we shall become. We might not be able to recall the events - but the consequences, what comes from those early memories - those stick with us. Both the good and the bad. 

It might be for the best that we do not, cannot, remember that which shapes us in our earliest years. If we could, if we knew the reasons behind why we are the way we are, there is no telling what we might become. 

~-/-~

She was cold. 

Physically, mentally, emotionally. 

Cold and exhausted. 

How many times had she gone through this now? She didn’t really care to count, but certainly far more than any normal human being should. She laughed at herself, she had stopped being normal long ago. 

From the moment she was reborn into a world she once believed was fictional, a world she thought only existed on TV and in manga, she ceased being anything remotely resembling normal. She might have been, if not for the fact that she could remember... She could remember the life... no, lives that came before. 

Her memories may have faded with time, but she still remembered. She recalled every single life she had ever lived, as far as she was aware at least. It was for this reason she was tired. Once again she had been reborn. Once again she had been thrust into a new life with a new face, a new name, a new family. 

A family that she had already failed. 

She looked to her left to the empty space where her brother, her twin, once kept her warm. 

She had felt them as they came down the hall. Not only their chakra, weak as it was, but their emotions as well. 

The anticipation, the greed, and from one, a sickening concoction of emotions that seemed to overwhelm all others around them. Desperation, guilt and self-loathing swirling together with a righteous anger that burned her even as an unholy greed threatened to drown her.

It was too much, even for her old soul. 

So naturally, she took it all on. 

She shielded her brother from the onslaught of emotions, all the anger and fear, all she could handle and then some. Too much, far too much for her to handle, all on her own. 

But she kept a tight grip on the tidal wave of emotion and the hand of the one she was protecting. The little whisper of worry that came from his young mind resonated with her and she couldn’t help but respond with a sweep of calm. 

It didn’t matter what was going on around her - the shouting of men, her mother running from the room, the looming presence of someone.   
None of it mattered to her, until her brother was removed from their shared crib by the looming man with the too many emotions. 

In that moment she finally realized what was going on and knew that it was too late to stop it. 

So she didn’t. 

Instead she sent one last emotion to her twin. She sent him every last bit of affection she had within her being. Desperately trying to make sure he knew that he was loved. 

She thinks, (hopesprayswishes) that he understood. In that final moment when their eyes met one last time. Because, in that one single moment, she felt the same from him, and it made hers grow all the more. 

She was cold, but her determination burned with the Will of Fire as she swore to find him, someday, no matter the cost. He was her brother, her twin, and there was nothing, in this world or any other, that would keep her from getting back to him.

~-/-~

He knew it was wrong. He knew, and it filled him with a sense of guilt, but he also knew it had to be done. 

He had Cameron take him and a couple others over to the seedy motel where he’d last seen the woman he had met, and more importantly her children. One of which could be the child that was the key to saving The Thieves Guild, the child with the Devil's eyes. 

As he made his way up the stairs he could feel his anticipation grow with every step, and with it his self-loathing. 

What kind of man was he to be excited about taking a child from its mother? About taking a Mother from her child? 

He tried to remind himself, that he was only going to take one. A feeble attempt to make himself feel less guilty about what he was about to do. It only served to remind him of the fact that he would also be separating two siblings, twins. 

Before his thoughts could turn against him they came upon the room they were searching for. He had no need to say anything, the door to the room was opened with no effort at all. It was almost laughable how simple it was to get into rooms in places like this.

He had assumed that, being members of the Thieves Guild, the men he had brought with him would know when to use stealth rather than force. He was proven wrong when one slammed open the door, effectively abandoning any pretence of discretion. The entire situation was made worse by the mother screaming and running from the room as if the devil were on her heels. 

He glared at the thieves responsible for making this more difficult than was absolutely necessary, willing them to feel his ire. He felt a vindictive sort of satisfaction as one of them shuddered.

Making his way into the room he gave it a once over, it seemed like just about every other motel room he had seen. Bare and on the verge of breaking down, the only notable difference in this room was the cheap crib by the bed. 

As he walked toward the crib he could feel his irritation at his subordinates turn to anger. 

How did it come to this? 

He was a thief, yes, but this was different. What he was about to do, it wasn’t like taking something from a vault to be sold or coveted. 

He was about to steal a child from their mother. 

He was going to steal a life. 

He paused as that thought turned to another. He was going to steal a life, just like his father had stolen Clemente’s. He was about to rob a child of their sibling, all for the sake of some prophecy that may not be true. 

But what if it was? 

What if this truly was the only way to save the Thieves Guild from ruin? He couldn’t take that risk... 

The children were young enough that they probably wouldn’t remember each other, and it wasn’t as if he was going to treat the child poorly. Such a thing was unthinkable within the Guild. 

He looked once more down at the children in the crib, this time really looking at them. 

His eyes were first drawn to the one in the shockingly pink clothes. That was certainly a lot of frills to fit on such a small body. Chuckling silently he shifted his attention toward the other child, the boy. He was wearing a worn out pair of navy overalls that looked a few sizes too large over a blue and white striped shirt with a little anchor stitched on it. 

The sight of it got a small grin out of him, and then the boy opened his eyes and he knew for certain which child he would be taking. He was already favouring the boy as he had no idea how to care for a girl, and no doubt it would be much more difficult to teach a woman the things he hoped to teach the child. 

Yes, the boy was the better choice. 

He would leave the girl to her mother and he would have his heir in the boy with the devils eyes and the hair like hellfire. 

Carefully he reached down into the crib and extracted the boy’s hand from the girl’s and picked him up. Bringing him to his chest he tried to ignore his foolish subordinates, whose argument had escalated to a full on shouting match. 

Finally having enough of their stupidity he turned to face them with a snarl, “ENOUGH!”

The entire room seems to freeze for a moment before one of the men he had brought with him, slowly turned to face him, his entire body full of tension and his face contorted with irritation. Throwing his arm as if a mere hand gesture wasn’t enough to express the levels of his exasperation.

“Boss, Really? You can’t... You Have to be Kidding!”

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow, “Do you have a problem with what we’re doing, Bill?”

Vincent clenched his fists, bringing his arms down to his side, “Yeah I do! Joking about my name doesn’t change the fact that THIS IS KIDNAPPING! We are thieves. We steal money and art. Things! NOT CHILDREN!”

He spun around to face the others in the room. “This is a whole different kind of illegal! Can’t you see how insane this is?”

Jean-Luc could see Cameron trying to meld into the corner, and pretend he wasn’t there. The man he had been arguing with before, John looked ready to throttle his fellow thief. He took a glance at his second in command, Oliver Lehane, who was a blond pillar of calm in this entire mess. 

“Insane?” Jean-Luc’s voice was low and soft, a dangerous sign. Every spine in the room straightened and Vincent could feel the hairs on his arms raise. He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders.

“You really think anyone else believes in that prophecy shit?”

Everyone was silent, watching the two men volley back and forth.

And something in Jean-Luc snapped.

He turned to Bill with a deceptive smile and gestured broadly with one of his hands.

“You know what, mon ami? You’re right! There’s the door.”

Vincent’s eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed. Jean-Luc’s grin widened further, showing a row of straight, white teeth.

“I- I-”

“In fact,” Jean-Luc turned to the room at large, “Anyone can leave. Right now. No questions asked.”

No one moved. Jean-Luc met Bill’s eyes, held it with a hard glare.

Bill broke first, looking at the floor miserably.

“No?” Jean-Luc’s smile dropped into a thunderous scowl. “Good. Because I want to make one thing clear, right here, right now. This child is coming with me. Anyone who stands in my way will be dealt with. Permanently.”

Silence reigned.

Jean-Luc turned without another word and walked slowly out the door. 

As he turned into the hall, the child, Remy, his son, began to cry.   
If he'd looked back, he'd see the silent promise in the girl's eyes, and the cold fury that did not belong on a child's features.

Jean-Luc turned without another word and walked slowly out the door. 

He knew it was wrong, but so long as it kept his family safe. He could honestly care less.

~-/-~

He’s in a room, large, dark, silent, and empty... 

Nothing happens for a long time, it feels like he is stuck for an eternity, unable to move or speak. It is cold, he feels the chill grip his body. There is an odd warmth at his back, comforting in the cold and the quiet. 

Suddenly everything is moving, the door slams open and dark imposing figures pour out from the blinding light. A scream, loud and terrified, shakes his very soul as the cold that surrounds him turns inward and it grips his heart and instead of being frozen he is falling, falling, falling... 

The world is spinning around him and he can’t tell which way is up, he feels sick and terrified because everything is as black as his eyes and then it isn’t and he is on a plane of white with a shadowy figure looming before him. 

As it moved closer and closer he began to look around frantically for something, anything to protect him. He looked behind him he saw his shadow, not at his feet but standing upright with rims of green where eyes should be, and for a moment, he felt safe, like nothing bad could happen. He could almost see it smile as it reached out to him, almost touching him before the great figure he had turned his back to grabbed him and lifted him up high, high off the ground as it tightened its grip until he couldn’t breath and his ribs were about to snap. Then…

Remy woke up with a gasp, shivering and covered in sweat, tears welling in his eyes. 

It happened again, another nightmare. 

He just wanted them to stop! 

They were scary and the shadow with the green eyes was showing up to save him less and less. He just wanted his Père. Remy crawled out of his bed and grabbed one of his blankets and made his way to his Père’s room as quietly as he could. 

When he got there he carefully opened the door and stuck his head inside.

“Père?” He asks quietly. 

When he didn’t get an answer he moved further into the room and tried again, “Père?” 

Once again Remy didn’t get an answer and so he moved right by the bed and tugged on the sheets. “Père, are you up? Père? Wake up...” 

Finally he was answered by a quiet groan and a gruff, “I’m up, I’m up.”

Remy bit his lip and looked at the floor, “It happened again Père... Can I stay with you?”

Remy’s Père slowly sat up and looked his way with a soft smile. “Of course you can, cheré.”

Remy smiled back and crawled into the bed, cuddling up to his Père. He tried to go back to sleep but he didn’t feel tired any more. He wiggled a bit, trying to get comfortable but he was too awake.

His Père grunted and nudged him gently, “Cheré, go couche-couche.”

Remy yawned and scooted closer to his Père.

“Okay,” he mumbled as he once more began to sleep, this time in the safety of his Père’s presence.

When Remy woke up the next morning his Père was already out of bed, so he crawled out bed and checked bubba’s room to see if he was awake yet. Etienne was really bad at waking up early and so Remy usually had to wake him up. 

It was really fun because he got to wake him up any way he wanted! 

When he checked inside the room nobody was inside and everything was all put away. Remy was confused until he remembered that Etienne was on a trip with Uncle Oliver. 

After that he made his way to the dining hall, saying hi to everyone he passed. Once he got there he asked one of his uncles to help him make a plate for his Père because he always forgot to eat in the morning unless someone reminded him. 

Once he got the plate all filled up with his Père’s favourite things he walked to his Père’s office trying really hard not to spill anything. It was hard, but he was getting a lot better! Once he got to the big office doors he frowned and looked at his full hands. 

He couldn’t push open the door with his hands full because if he tried he would make a mess, but he couldn’t set everything down because then he wouldn’t be able to pick everything back up. 

He tries all kinds of ways to open the door, with his back, his elbow, his head, and even his feet! 

Until finally the door opens, but not because of Remy, but because his Père had finally opened the door for him. When it opened Remy almost dropped the food because suddenly the door wasn’t there anymore and he was leaning into nothing. Remy caught himself just in time and looked up at his Père with a grin, “I brought you breakfast!”

His Père snorts, “I can see that.”

Remy bounces up and down excitedly, “I made sure to get ALL of your favourites! I didn’t even drop a little bit!”

“Really now? Not even a crumb?”

Remy shakes his head, “Not even a crumb!”

He smiles and ruffles Remy’s hair, “Good job Cheré, I’m proud of you,” opening the door a bit more so Remy could get in without bumping into the door.

Remy comes in and very carefully places everything down on the table as his Père looked on with an amused grin. After everything was on his desk and everything important was removed from the spill zone the two of them sat down together and began to eat.

“Ca c’est bon! You chose perfectly, cheré.”

Remy’s smile was bright enough to light up the room.

They continued to eat, sometimes talking, but for the most part simply enjoying the food. 

When they had finished Remy looked up at his Père and asked, “Père... Sometimes when I have a nightmare I see a shadow and it looks like me and has eyes just like mine, but they’re green and I don’t know why but when I see it I feel safe and loved and.... Père... Why would the shadow have green eyes? Sometimes I think it might be my mom but it looks like me, and it isn’t big like you so it can’t be, right? It feels more like bubba, but his eyes are that pretty brown and green and they’re white like yours. Père, do you know the shadow person?”

Remy’s Père was quiet for a moment, “Why do you ask me cheré?”

“Because you know EVERYONE Père!”

He looked at Remy, and everything was quiet for a long time, “Well Remy, I’m sorry, but I don’t know who your shadow might be. When I found you as a baby you had been abandoned. Left for dead by people who were scared of you because of your eyes. They left you, but Père found you, and I’ll never stop loving you, cheré.”

~-/-~

Memory is a funny thing, it comes and goes as it pleases and no one memory is set in stone. 

Memory also has an odd habit of changing when something you think you remember, is said to be wrong by someone you trust. It is so easy to come to the conclusion that you were and they are right because it is much easier to believe someone then it is to trust in yourself. 

Nothing is set in stone and everything can be questioned, even the existence of your own family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words From This Chapter:
> 
> “Mon ami” = Literally translated, it means “my friend”.
> 
> “Père” = Father.
> 
> “Cheré” = Literally translates as “dear”. In proper French, it is pronounced “share”. In Cajun French it is pronounced “shaa”.
> 
> “Couche-couche” = A Cajun term meaning “fall asleep”. Many young Cajun parents tell their fussy babies “Go couche-couche, cheré”. It is pronounced “koosh koosh”.
> 
> “Ca c’est bon” = Literally translated, it means “It is good”. Something you might say when something pleases you.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Emotions  
By MisteriosaSaky

Emotions are a curious thing - they are feeble and tame, but also strong and wild. They are impossible to predict, but also easy to control. They can be harmless and unnoticeable, but they also can be dangerous and obvious.

Emotions can change who you are, or can keep you unchangeable. They can get you to make the biggest mistakes and commit the biggest sins. They can make you a hero too, and a saint.

There is no one who does not have emotions. The bad man, the good man, everyone has them. Some have twisted ones and some have straight ones, some emotions are strong and some are weak, there are people with missing emotions, but they are always there and are what truly shapes us...

~-/-~

When Renée was born, or more accurately when she was reborn, it was with a profound sense of tiredness.

Tiredness and annoyance. She was annoyed and near the very end of her rope, but she suppressed it. There are things about life and the universe you don't want to know, that you don't need to know. How it feels to be born is one of those, and she knows that feeling all too well. She’s known this feeling for a long, long time. She's been born more times than she should. She doesn't know how or why, and she doesn't care.

She can't remember her past lives very well, not this time, but she has glimpses of people and names and labels that follow these glimpses. But she doesn't care, not this time. She knows that in her next life her memories will be clearer (Probably. It’s happened before, she knows that in her soul it will happen again. It is not something she wants but she is already resigned to her fate).

She was cold, and her mother was not mother material. There are shakes in her mother’s arms and her too pale skin peeks out from her worn shirt and Renée can see semen on her neck. And how was she able to see so well after being born barely a few hours earlier?

She didn’t care. She was tired, oh so tired. This was just too troublesome. She bet Shikamaru was somehow, somewhere, waiting for her. He was the only one she could remember vividly. She remembered his face as he battled with a god. Remembered his worry, his love, his unrelenting strength. She’ll always remember him. He saved her, she owed him that. He and almost all of her second life was vivid, at least more vivid than the rest. She heard a disturbing cry that was not her’s, she was sure about that. Then feelings that were not her own filled her very core. Confusion. Terror. Anguish. Hunger.

She was not cold anymore and she was not tired either. Because that piece of her soul that she didn't know was missing was just there. That baby was not Shika, she knew that, but he was still her little brother and she'll be damned if she would let him get hurt.

She didn’t have high expectations of her mother. But sometimes appearances are deceiving. She hoped she was wrong this time. Not for herself, but for her younger sibling’s sake.

~-/-~

Renée was having a bad day to end a crappy week which was part of an even crappier month. It all began with mother, her oh so dear mother, finding that stupid store that sells those dresses. Pink little menaces with frills. She'd never been a fan of dresses, especially ones that were pink or had, Kami forgive her, frills on them. But Mother was so happy when she found it, and Remy was even happier (sweet little Remy). That's why even if she wanted to scream and yell, she didn't. Even though pink clashed horribly with her red hair, her too fair skin and her green over black eyes, Remy was happy with the brightness of her outfit and that was enough for her.

And her mother, her sweet, clueless and healthier Mother was happy. That was why she swallowed her pride, every ounce of it, and smiled. Her mother was not the brightest crayon in the box but she was not stupid either. Unfortunately the use of heroin left marks. Add the fact she never learned how to properly read and the fact she didn’t know a single thing about kids...it was adorable in some twisted way. She was nice. She cared about them, enough to leave the heroin behind. But she didn’t know how to take care of them.

She was twitchy and jumpy, and didn’t know what was the normal behavior and growth of kids. Which was a blessing in and out itself for Renée. The woman was trying, so very, very hard and it was endearing.

But she bought dozens of those frilly dresses. She spent every dollar she had on them which left them with barely enough money to eat. And nothing at all for next week. They weren’t going to have enough for a few more weeks, yet. So Mommy had the bright idea to bring men to their apartment. Sex for money.

And if that wasn’t disturbing enough, she did it just there. In front of them. Her brother was confused and scared when she had intercourse and the fact Renée can feel their chakra and emotions just too well...It was just another level of disturbing.

She tried to protect Remy, she did the best she could even though she knew she shouldn’t. Not to the extent she did. Because Remy was one and a half and he didn’t talk. He could, but he didn’t. He didn’t need to, she always spoke for him and helped him with whatever he needed. She couldn’t help it. He was her little brother and she hated when he was upset. And then, when she was beginning to believe her mother turning tricks in front of her kids was the worst thing that could go wrong, these men barged in and took Remy away.

And she was furious! With them, with her mother, but mostly with herself. She was supposed to take care of him! She swore to herself she would do that! That no matter what, she'd protect her brother, and she couldn't kept her promise....

She couldn't, she was powerless, hopeless and alone.

That part of her soul Renée found, the part she didn't know was missing was lost again.  
She was completely alone in that place, she was cold. But not physically, her soul was cold, that missing part, her little brother, her Remy was not here, all because she was too weak, too focused on protecting him from himself to realize what was happening around them.

Where was that strong kunoichi she once was? That feared Shikabane-hime who was feared for her prowess in fuinjutsu, with that sharp mind that only a Nara possessed?

She was not here, of that Renée was sure, but she'd come back.

Renée was going to make sure of that, Renée was Shikabane-hime, Shikako Nara, twin sister of Shikamaru Nara, daughter of Yoshino and Shikaku of the Nara clan, part of the feared Team 7.

But her little brother was missing, and she was at fault. She'd make sure that Shikabane-hime returned, but in that moment she didn’t care about her past life, her past lives.

She was Renée now, a little girl with an adult mind, a smart girl that promised to take care of her brother, that swore to protect him at all cost. A girl that broke her promise, who missed her other half, her sweet little brother, and it was all her fault.

"Aghrrr!! I am so stupid!" She yelled, kicking and throwing things around, "I should've stopped them! I should've said something! Anything! Why the hell did I freeze!? I am supposed to be with him, not alone in this room! And now Remy is by himself with that- that- that scum!"

There was a moment of silence when those words were finally processed for her, she was here, and Remy was with that scum, her sweet little Remy, her bright and smart little brother who barely talked, (he understood, sometimes too much, he was very smart after all) because he didn’t feel the need to utter any words, knowing that she always knew what he wanted or needed.

The same little brother that was able to feel emotions, just like her, but not to the same extent. Only, she was able to control her link with him and so take most of his emotions away. She couldn't do that now, not when the distance between them was too big, and that distance was certainly too big.

There were a few good things about having lived in so many places, she decided absent mindedly, even if she didn't remember clearly her past lives, she remembered the languages, that meant hundreds of bad, curse words to express herself.

All the rage, and the guilt, and the self-loathing, every thought and feeling that filled her mind had a word. And for a moment, just for that moment, she chose to forget about the world around her and let her emotions go wild.

They were expressed in a loud and very explicit way, and if there was a few tears falling from her face, she was not going to acknowledge it, it wasn’t like people could notice (not in this forgotten and shady motel room).

After two hours of crying non-stop, something ancient and powerful, something she always knew was inside herself, something she refused to acknowledge before this point (like why she could see so well in the dark, why she could feel chakra in a world where no one else had any, why she could use it in little ways, the fact her eyes were black and while she couldn’t do much with it yet, it was so easy to make her shadow… twitch), that something finally snapped and her form (the form of a little redhaired girl with bright green irises over dark black sclera, wearing a pink frilly dress) was replaced with a nondescript black form, and it was testimony of her luck (her twice damnable luck), that her mother walked into the room in that exact moment.

You didn't need to be a genius (or a reincarnated soul) to know what happened next. Nobody could blame her mother for it (and Renée was going to be hurt, but she'd forgive her, eventually)

~-/-~

Ginger was scared, she knew she shouldn't have left her bébés behind, but those men broke into her room, that scared her, but what truly scared her was that man.

He was the one that asked about her kids, the one that truly looked at them, he was scared about them, he probably knew what she had done to them. She didn’t know much about kids, but she knew kids were not supposed to have black eyes, she had done that to them, and she loved them despite that, or maybe because of it.

And Ginger knew about people that took away the kids from their mothers (that happened when you hurt your kids), but she didn't know she’d hurt them, but she loved them, and she'd be damned if someone took her bébés away!

It is with that resolve that Ginger had chosen to return to her room. Maybe, she thought to herself, she could still stop it, she would find her bébés and everything was going to be alright. But another, darker part of her mind (the one she'd learned to suppress, because her kids were not supposed to be yelled at, or insulted, she had enough of that herself, and she didn't want that for her bébés), told her that was too late, her bébés were no more and these men had not only taken them away, but maybe, probably, killed them.

And that thought only scared her more, she'd be devastated if her kids, (pretty and smart Renee, and sweet and silent Remy) were taken away from her, but what could crush her was if they were not alive anymore, they are her angels. Thanks to them and the love she had for them, she was the person she is today.

Ginger was not smart, and she was broken in too many ways, but she knew that heroin was not something she liked anymore, she was still twitchy and easily scared but she'd get better, she needed to, her bébés needed her (and she needed them too).

So she ran, ran through people and cars, she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Because she needed to see her bébés (Renee with her beautiful pink dress, and her smart and bright green eyes, and Remy with his toothy happy grin and his innocent and charming red eyes).

Ginger had done it, she was in front of her room, but she couldn’t move, she heard strange words, in an even stranger language, and all in a deceptive, familiar voice (one she loved so much), but it couldn’t be, Renee didn’t know other languages, she knew! She taught her how to talk, and she knew enough about kids to know that they don't learn languages by themselves, not without help.

With wobbly legs she walked inside her room, it was there that she saw her baby, her pretty Angel, she was going to hug her, because Renee, her sweet smart Renee is crying, but before she can take more than one step, her Angel had shifted, her form was not her true form anymore, and she knew, she knew just one thing, that was not her baby.

"Y-You, You Demon!" The adult yelled, and without a through she jumped towards sa fillel, the child, the demon kid, she couldn't (wouldn't) believe that is sa fille doux, her girl is smart, she knew that, she didn’t know about kids, but she knew her kids, and that thing was trying to foul her, mocking her with the face of her sweet Renée, she knew her kids were no more, there was no way that those men, would have spared them. And if they did spare them, they'd be together (how they always were), but Remy was not here, and she knew Renée, pretty and smart Renee would never leave Remy alone.

Ginger snapped, the last bit of hope, the last bit of love, the last bit of sanity was crushed when that thing called her Mommy.

Ginger was never going to be proud of what happened next, but in that moment she could only think about that thing, that Renée look alike called her Mommy, with the same voice as her, that same pitch and the same confused expression which her Renée used, and she knew that bright green eyes with hidden intelligence, she knew that tiny little hand that was lifted in greeting, she putain knew that shy and nervous smile.

But she could not be her Renée, she didn't care about the shadows that sometimes moved, she didn't care about her hidden language, she didn’t fucking care about her hair, her pretty red hair, that somehow was not red anymore. What she cared was that her Renée had green eyes and this thing didn’t.

Ginger knew about mutants. She didn't particularly care about them one way or another. They were humans, strange and powerful ones, but what she cared was that someone was trying to replace her baby, someone was taking the place of her Belle Fille, and she won't let that happen!

She launched forward, her teeth bared in fury and slapped it in the face, it fell to the ground with a surprised and pained sound, she was ready to continue, but she met the thing's eyes, and they were... green.

That... was not right. It couldn't be. She had seen them; they were white... (but mutants could change their appearances, just as you saw her transform into shadows), a part of her mind helpfully supplied.

"Oh! God! Chère, I am sorry, I am, truly, I didn't mean to hurt you, est-où Remy? What happened with him?" She asked frantically, her mind jumping between fear and guilt, grief and worry, and a deep painful anger.

"I-I don't know...." Sa fille said with a soft, weak voice - fear clear in her eyes as she touched her face. It was like she was trying to protect herself from her, from her Mommy, that was the last straw.

Ginger fall to her knees and cried. For her bébés, for what she had done to them, her Remy was taken because of her, her Renée was afraid of her, she'd done this, this was her fault.

~-/-~

Jean-Luc didn't plan for this to happen, he was not supposed to care about the kid, and yet he did.

At first he didn't care. Sure, he felt guilt for his actions, what sort of man would he be if he didn't feel at least a little bit guilty? But, he also was annoyed with the kid. Days and days of crying non-stop, asking, begging for Renée, hoping against all reasoning that she'd show up, he didn’t get why he'd never asked for his mother, he was supposed to ask for his mother, not his sister.

Yet that fact was not really surprising, that Renée was his twin, two faces of the same soul or something like that.

It would have been easier if he'd asked for his mother, Jean-Luc was expecting it. He’d endure it. Yet he wasn't expecting this.

The heartbreaking cries, the sobs that filled his very core, his very soul: pain, fear, despair,confusion.

He heard them all. A kid was not supposed to feel so much, especially a kid with Demon's eyes. The kid was supposed to be a tool, something he could throw away after his use.

The kid was not a tool, the pitiful and desperate sobs were breaking his heart, he knew he was not supposed to care, and yet he did...  
If it was his mother who he called, he could have managed. He would be hard pressed but he'd endure, but the kid was not asking about her, that was not part of his plans.

~-/-~

Remy was not supposed to do it, his père hated when he did. But Remy didn’t know why his père hated it, he liked it, but his pére hated it, he didn't get what was so wrong with pink.

His père was in the bathroom, and his Uncle Oliver was talking with that funny friend of his. He knew he was not supposed to do it, but it was just there, and was alone, and cold.

Remy knew it was wrong to do it, his père hated it, but he needed to. He extended his hand, curled his fingers around it, lifting the pink hairpin, he should give it to his Uncle's friend, return it, but he didn’t. He put it in his pocket instead.

He loved pink, pink was funny, and safe, and love, and calm, and good. He loved pink, that's why he took pink and hid it, he needed to protect pink, pink and girls, he needed to do that. He loved his père but he loved pink even more.

Pink was important! Why did his père not get it? His père was smart, he should know that! But his père didn't!

His père hated pink, and he didn't know why.

And his père loathed 'Renée', he didn’t know what a Renée was, but was important, he missed his 'Renée', he didn’t have a 'Renée', and he was supposed to have one!

His père loathed 'Renée', that's why Remy didn't ask about Renée. He wanted to, but he didn't. He knew Renée was important, he missed it.

But Remy had pink. And pink was safe, and fun, and love.

Remy knew pink, and he had pink, and pink was safe. He don't care if his père hated pink, he loved pink and his père couldn't steal his pink!

~-/-~

Emotions were curious things indeed. They are powerful things, however you are, whenever you are, they follow you.

You might not remember and yet you feel them, you can oversee them, try to control them, and they'll change and shift, but you'll never forget them.

They control you in ways you don't know, can never realize, or in some cases are all too obvious.

And they stay with you, no matter what, they follow you, they are your anchor, your moral compass, a guiding light that leads you in life. A light that fades or brightens, but always stays, leading you onwards.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: - Decisions  
By Dinner

It is in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped.  
\- Tony Robbins

~-/-~

There are things about being a parent Ginger valued more than the life she lived. There was a love that awakened deep inside of her for those little bags of flesh she had birthed. Ginger had never experienced love like that. She was a child of the system with caregivers that had been strict and orderly, not loving.

Unlike her they didn’t sit next to their child until it fell asleep. And unlike her they didn’t reminisce on days long past while holding their child's hand just so they knew she was safe.

So when Ginger turned fifteen and someone gave her the attention she never knew she needed so much, she gave that man her all. It was the kind of romance only written about in books. It was back in the late forties, the war had just ended and she decided to slip out, as she had done only a few times before, so she could visit the bars where the sailors and army men gathered to drink their sorrow and mishaps away.

As Giant Gerro opened the bar’s door for her she thanked him. He was tall and she had to roll her eyes all the way up just so she could see his face. She didn’t comment on the bits and pieces in his moustache, or the hairs growing out of his nose, she simply entered the pub and let her eyes drink in all the exciting things that were happening.

There were men and women and they were playing games. Not all of them with cards or dice, some games; or so had she learned from Rita; were played by slowly caressing your legs or collarbone. And she saw many a whore playing that game like they had stacked the deck.

She knew she wasn’t much to look at. Her chest was humble where theirs were not, and her hips didn’t sway with the elegance that came from years of practice. But she couldn’t help trying to emulate the movements. She wanted to be like them - they were loved, they were beautiful.

So she walked to the bar and tried her best to make her bony hips sway like theirs did. Perhaps if she could do that, just maybe she could… Well, she wasn’t sure what it would help her get. But the whores looked happy. Maybe it would make her happy too?

She had been sitting at the bar, her red hair curled and her lips as red as the cherries she had crushed to make the lipstick. She was known as Little Doll back then, virgin in more than one way, she didn’t drink, but all the boys and men got drunk on her presence. Not that she noticed their stares, she was too busy practicing the game.

A young man, perhaps twenty-three, clad in white pulled up a seat next to her. “A pretty girl like you, what are you doing around these cretins?” he had asked, his lips thinning with a smile.

The game was stacked and Ginger never stood any chance after she first kissed him with her cherry tipped lips and later, later Steven had her other cherry. That night behind the dumpster on some cardboard scraps in the back alley, they did what their bodies were made for. He promised her eternal love, affection and attention. They talked after they made love. It had been dirty, but gentle, and they both agreed it had been good.

Steven had warm hands. He took her hands in his and promised to come back the next day. It was the first time Ginger had ever looked forward to waking up the next morning.

Though that evening felt like a night in the movies, it never truly got its happy ending, because before the credits rolled the script was rewritten.

For the night that Ginger (or as she was called by her caregivers, “Louisa”) came back home, the lights came on as she entered the house. There, in the middle of the room in her stately arm-chair sat Mother Superior. Her face read murder. She was grounded for every day she’d been alive, twice.

“You won’t leave this house until you’ve prayed your sins away.” Mother Superior had said after Louisa had been spanked raw.

The next night Steven sat in the bar and Ginger didn’t show. He met the love of his life instead, the woman that he’d get two sons and a daughter with. Ginger never saw him again, but she remembered that magical night, how a man dressed in white swept her off her feet and made her feel loved.

If you asked Mother Superior about decision making,  
she would say that no decision that is made  
is without its consequences.

~-/-~

It was a warm morning, the rain from earlier that night still filled the atmosphere. Though it was no longer raining, the air was filled with water, and the humidity was almost as thick as the third peanut butter and jelly sandwich Renée was about to eat. It was warm, summer and early. For Renée and Ginger that meant eating breakfast on the balcony.

The balcony was more of a platform that Ginger had put chicken wire around, but for early morning cloud watching it was the best place in the entire apartment building.

They had moved out of the motel a good year and a half ago. Ginger had found a small apartment and with a lot of love and care she made it into the humble home it was today. The kitchen was decorated with yellow sunflowers she had painted on the ceramic tiles. The sunflowers’ leaves hid the cracks, and the yellow made the kitchen glow in the early light of dawn.

“Can I have another peanut butter and jelly?” Renée asked, her feet hanging over the balcony. There wasn’t much space between the chicken fence and the concrete floor of the “balcony” but Renée’s legs fit, even if the steel wire left its imprint on her skin when she sat like that long enough.

Life wasn’t bad. It wasn’t great either, but Ginger had done a lot with the little she had. Renée could appreciate that, and she was thankful for it. Though to be honest, after his kidnapping, things had never completely felt the same again.

“Thanks Mom.” Renée grabbed the jelly filled folded slice bread greedily. Things might not be perfect, but it wasn’t all bad.

Ginger was drinking her coffee, and no, Renée wasn’t allowed to have any, and for a moment that was the picture Ginger would remember as one of her happiest moments; Renée and Ginger, having breakfast while watching the sun come up over the St. Louis Cathedral in the distance.

“I have a job interview later today. So I asked for Mrs. La Velle to let you stay with her until I come back.”

Renée quickly swallowed the piece of bread and jelly. “That’s nice Mom! What kind of job?”

“There’s a diner just a few blocks from here, and they’re searching for a waitress.”

“A waitress.” Renée seemed to taste the words on her lips. “Does that mean you’d have to work at night?”

Putting the cup of coffee between her feet, Ginger ran her hand through Renée’s hair. “Maybe, but there are upsides as well. It means we could have little meatballs every Sunday.”

“I hope you get the job,” Renée decided, and Ginger chuckled. “Not just for the meatballs… other things too.”

They finished their morning ritual by feeding the pigeons the crumbs they had left. And after dropping Renée off at Mrs la Velle’s, Ginger went to Laura’s.

Now one thing everyone knew about Laura was that she liked fancy things. Fancy cars, fancy clothing, fancy plates, fancy carpet - fancy everything. The thing not many people knew was that Laura paid for these fancy things by escorting rich men to fancy dinners and galas. Of course the ladies in the neighbourhood gossiped about where she got her money from, but their bits of insight differed greatly.

Mrs Venier, who lived two doors down the street, offered an explanation - she was sure that Laura must’ve inherited a lot of money through a dead relative. Mr Venier vehemently disagreed - he believed in alchemy and was sure the golden necklaces Laura was never seen without were created by her philosopher's stone.

Their good friend, and sometimes swing partner, the both Ms. and Mr. Elie Smith, declared both Venier’s a few screws short of a hardware store. Surely Laura didn’t pay for her fancy things, because she was a kleptomaniac. After all, she had seen Laura steal the very earrings she had left on the table when she had been invited over last thanksgiving.

Ginger didn’t care about these rumours. She liked Laura, looked up to her even. The pretty hair, long fake nails and impressive bosom, well, she considered Laura the epitome of beautiful. She looked like a tall Dolly Parton. And she was friendly.

“Oh sorry you had to knock sweety, the doorbell fell off last week, and sweet Robbie hasn’t had the time to fix the string. And well, you understand that with these beauties” Laura click-clacked her nails and showed them off to Ginger. ”-I can’t do something as risky as handy work.”

“Mornin’ Laura.” Ginger closed the door behind her and gave Laura two kisses on the cheeks.

“Well good morning to you too!” Laura walked on heels that were obviously a few centimeters too high as her ankles, with each step, came close to twisting. “Come, come, and look what Edward gave me last night.” She stopped once she reached a table with a drawer in it. “Yes, Chère, I understand you looking dumbstruck, these are rubies.”

“Laura, they’re… beautiful.”

“I know. They look nice on me, don’t they?” Laura swept her hair back and held them in front of her ears.

“They do.”

“Vomment ca vas? Did something happen?” Laura’s smile, the one she had worn ever since Ginger had stepped a foot inside turned into a worried one.

Ginger fumbled her fingers and looked away, her eyes catching her own reflection in the mirror across the living room. “Well Gingie? Spit it out Chère, or you’ll turn sour.”

Ginger looked back, a nervous smile on her lips. “I’ve got a job interview at the Diner today.”

“And you went out looking like this?” Laura’s hands went up and down, at least twice. “Chère, you pauvre bête. It’s a good thing you came by me first.”

What followed was an hour of powdering, dress fittings, “oohs” and “Aahs” and a lot of giggling. In the end Ginger looked at herself in the same mirror as before, and she saw someone else looking back. Gone were the dark blues under her eyes, and gone were the cracked dry lips. What looked back was something she hadn’t seen in a long time. Her hair was curled in the same way as Laura’s, her skin looked fair and her lips were cherry-red.

“I.”

“You!” Laura grabbed her by the shoulders, excited about her long-time friend seeking greener pastures, “are a sight to behold, Gorgeous! But something is missing. Ah, I know just the thing.” Laura hurried away and came back holding up two red ruby earrings. “Yes, perfect.”

“I… You didn’t have- I mean, Thank you.”

“Well, we all deserve to look like our best sometimes, non?” Laura’s voice was deeper when she said that. “Now go have your job interview, make them want you, and make your daughter proud.”

Ginger left, on heels too high and ankles ready to twist, for her job interview.

If you asked Laura about making decisions,  
she’d tell you that decisions are like dresses,  
every dress is pretty but not every dress looks pretty on you.

~-/-~

Vicky’s Diner had opened in the late thirties, back then Vicky had already stopped her monthly bleeding, yes she was that old, but no one dared to say her age to her face. It was a place that everyone in their Quarter of New Orleans knew and visited regularly. And though the years had slowly taken their toll on the building the Diner called its own, people still came for Vicky’s homemade Gumbo.

But just like the building, Vicky was getting older, and managing the Diner all on her own was getting difficult. Sweeping the floors took longer than it used to, and with her hearing slowly getting worse, soon she wouldn’t hear what Old Ernie ordered no matter how hard he yelled it.

So last week she asked Little Anya, the girl that came every Thursday for a sundae swirl, to put up some flyers that said she was seeking help at the diner. To her surprise more than a dozen girls responded, the last of which should’ve been there by now.

Vicky wasn’t one for waiting. Her father didn’t wait on her excuses before he took the stress of the day out on her. Her mother didn’t wait for her to shower before sending her to school, so she had learned the hard way that making people wait was a waste of time. And that was how she ran this Diner. Swiftly.

A cuppa coffee, ready in twenty-five seconds. You want a bagel? It’s already baked. That was why people liked her Diner, why she always ended her night with a full register.

So when her last interviewee came in with a pair of heels in her hands, sweat on her forehead and an excuse on her lips she was swift to say. “No.”

“Oh, pardon me, ma’am. I’m sorry, but, please I came a’ quickly a’ I could.” The redhead offered, straightening her dress and wiping the sweat away with a handkerchief.

Vicky grabbed the pot of coffee and poured a cup full. There was something about the girl, something that reminded her of herself. Perhaps under all that makeup and glitter- “You got one chance girl, come. Sit.” The cup of coffee was quickly pushed forward.

Ginger sat in the seat opposite of the countertop where Vicky was standing.

“So Chère, you got a name?”

“Ginger, ma’am.”

An eyebrow raised, arms folded and a snort left Vicky in reaction. “Your real name, petite.”

Ginger seemed taken aback, putting the cup that had been halfway to her mouth back on the countertop. She opened her mouth and closed it, Vicky was sure she was trying to impersonate a fish, until the girl came to a decision. “Just Ginger, ma’am.”

“Well, just Ginger. Can you make an egg?”

A little smile danced on Ginger's lips “How would you like it? Sunny side up or scrambled?”

The redhead gained confidence at Vicky’s reaction, the towel she had held in her hand was slapped over her shoulder. “Pshaw! So, Ginger, what makes you better for this job than the ten other girls that I’ve already talked to, that were on time and came in wearing footwear?”

Ginger lost the confidence she had gained by making the older woman laugh.

Back came all the insecurities, she wasn’t better equipped for this job… Those other girls could probably do things better than she could, she was just an addicted whore that needed to provide for her little girl.

“I’ve got childre- a child. And I need this job. Pretty soon winter will come and I want her to have a coat to keep her warm. Or a blanket to lay over her at night. I don’t know about the other girls that want this job. They’re probably smarter or prettier than I am, but I want it more. I’ll work harder, longer. I’ll come earlier and try my hardest every day.”

Vicky seemed to take her time after that and actually started doing the dishes.

“The Diner opens at eleven but you need to be here at nine and start with passing the broom. You’ll stay until after rush hour, which is seven in the evening. You’ll clean, you’ll pour the coffee and you pour it quickly, you bake the bagels and take the orders. If you do this well enough for a week, starting tomorrow the job is yours.”

Ginger’s eyes were wider than they’d ever been. “Ma’am, thank you, thank you. I will be here at nine.”

“And you’ll put on some normal flats, and take off those hideous nails, they’ll only get in the way.” Vicky stretched out her arm to finish the deal. “Welcome at the Diner, Ginger.”

Ginger greedily shook Vicky’s hand. “Why’d you pick me?”

“The other couyons that came for an interview were as dumb as a cow's end. And you got people skills, don’t ya kid?”

All Ginger could do was smile. Maybe things were going to turn around for the better?

If you asked Vicky about making decisions,  
she’d tell you to make them swiftly  
lest the decision is made for you.

~-/-~

Mrs. La Velle kind of smelled, at least according to Renée’s nose. It wasn’t just Mrs. La Velle herself that smelled, it were the thirteen chinchilla’s (Simon, James, John, Andrew, Philip, Jésus, Thomas, Bart, Matt, other James, Other Simon, Thaddy and Judas), two rabbits (Tilly and Billy) and nineteen cats, which for the life of her Renée couldn’t remember the names of.

Renée didn’t dislike having to stay at Mrs. La Velles’ home, she liked the animals. She even liked the old lady herself. But time spent at that house could feel so much like wasting time. She had set herself a goal, she had a brother to find. A family to protect.

Ginger was safe and secure, nothing bad would happen to her. She was even getting a normal job, or at least she had been trying to.

It hadn’t been easy to know the woman that had birthed you couldn’t tell you the name of your father. But according to Ginger her father was part of the navy.

That was nice.

Somehow, while thinking, Renée had ended up with two cats in her lap and one cat trying to climb up her back. She wondered if Remy had any pets? Maybe he was allergic to them, maybe he had a pet lizard named Izzy, maybe… maybe…

She wiped away the wetness from her cheeks.

Lot’s of good the word ‘maybe’ did her.

Maybe he was dead?

Maybe he was being abused this very moment… he could be screaming for help. And she was sitting here petting her cats being happy that her biological mother was trying to get a job!

“Ow! That hurts!” she yelled shaking the cat that was trying to perch on her head by using its nails as hooks.The cat wasn’t having any of it and dug her nails even further into her scalp, trying to balance on top of her. “You wretched animal! Let go.” she cursed, lifting her hands up and…

The cat jumped off, taking a good few paws full of hair with it. By now the tears in her eyes weren’t just because of… but also because of that cat. Ah, now she remembered its name. “I’ll get you back Tora!” She promised, her hand balled into a fist, fiercely shaking.

“Is something wrong Renée?”

“No Mrs. La Velle.”

“Ah, it seems we have run out of milk. Here’s a quarter. Would you be a dear and buy a bottle of milk at the Market Basket?” Mrs. La Velle got close to Renée and she had to hold her breath for, five, four ‘take the quarter’ three, two ‘back away and smile’ one.

“Of course I will.” She said before sharply exhaling.

“Ah, yes, your sweet mother be praised, she surely raised a fine little girl. Use the change to buy yourself some sweets.”

Renée nodded, slowly making her way, evading cats and chinchilla’s. By the time she reached the door she had done enough ninja training for the day, perhaps being here wasn’t so useless after all?

Walking outside, Renée knew she was the odd duckling out. Though by now the grownups knew who she was and that her eyes... Well they were just weird, nothing scary, nothing demonic, just weird.

So as she walked the street she greeted the whale of a man that went by the name Mr Berkley, he was her neighbour, but he lived across from her, in one of the manors with a porch, it looked fancy; but the wooden pillars were slowly rotting.

She had visited his house a few times, his wife was as thin as he was big and where he was cursed with boobs she was cursed with a flat chest. But what the Berkleys lacked in body they made up with personality. Mr. Berkley could crack a joke about pretty much anything and anyone and Mrs Berkley was so sweet Renée was surprised she didn’t sweeten her tea with her finger.

Certainly there was something wrong with them, something suspicious or malicious, maybe they killed puppies during the sabbath, or drowned kittens when they went picnicking on sundays, the baskets Mrs Berkley carried were awfully big… But so far Renée only had her suspicions.

As she walked on, she waved to Sister Mary-Clarence, one of the nuns of the monastery just across the hill. She received a full smile and wave back. Sister Mary-Clarence had actually been the one that had helped Ginger to get the apartment they lived in now. The church had kindly donated the money and space she’d needed until she could get back on to her own feet.

Just thinking about the kind of charity they had received... It meant they had to give back to this community as well. And so they had, Ginger had taken her with her to help in the public gardens and Renée had more than once taken some of the ripe strawberries and eaten them instead of putting them in the basket.

By the time she had reached the store she must’ve greeted and waved a good dozen people.

Though it wasn’t Konoha by a long shot, she actually kind of liked it here. The neighbourhood felt homely and the people were nice, even though some could get kind of weird, or maybe that was just her. She did have a skewed sense of what normal meant.

After picking up the milk and two overwhelmingly sour liquorice sticks, Renée made her way back. School was out; children dressed in different shades of blue were running around. The boys wearing their summer shorts and the girls their short dresses that ended just under their knees.

She recognized some of them. There was Nathan, a boy just eight years old that was actually Mrs La Velle’s nephew, she’d seen him come over a few times. Though he was a smart boy he was hard to understand sometimes because his front teeth had, just days ago, fallen out. So he had a lisp, asking him yes or no questions was a riot though, he got so bashful when he had to say yes.

Just a little behind Nathan skidded Julia with her best friend Gill, short for Guiliani, which was short for pain in the ass. Gill was the popular girl, her father owned the barber shop, and knew every person of importance in this Quarter of the city, Gill flaunted her status as the connected queen bee all too gladly. Little did she know that her father would probably soon lose his shop as the state was trying to remodel the plaza it was proudly heading. Julia on the other hand, well she was just the kindest girl, and Nathan had a crush on her the size of the Empire State Building.

But today she wouldn’t be teasing them about it, she had milk and sweets to bring back, so instead of waving and chatting with the kids she hurried back home.

~-/-~

Just when she rounded the last corner she saw the shadow of a pebble being thrown directly at her, it would miss, she had calculated that quickly enough, still she ducked; better safe than sorry.

The pebble fell to the ground a bit further ahead, but she didn’t look that way, she looked back; someone had thrown it. “Oh look, it’s black-eye. Did your deadbeat mommy hit you? Or are you just that ugly?”

It was a child's’ taunt, it shouldn’t mean anything, shouldn’t hit or hurt. But somewhere it did. But Renée bit her tongue and stayed silent; nothing worse than indifference. She turned back around and decided to just walk away, this wasn’t worth her time.

But soon as she did, not one but two shadows quickly raced at her. Again pebbles missed and landed a few feet away from her. Renée turned around, and just for a moment considered acting, but seeing their chubby cheeks, and vacant unintelligent stares she thought better of herself and knew they were already worse off than her.

“Oh, look at that boys! La p’tit catin can’t do nothin’, she’s just so scared!”

And then milk was slowly put on the ground, liquorice was carefully put in her pocket and Renée turned around. “I see.”

Of the three boys that had followed her it was obviously the boy in the middle that had taken charge. In the back of her mind tactics that should’ve been long forgotten or otherwise not be misused on civi’s came back to the forefront.

The boys were laughing now, pebbles ready in their hand. “Oh, that’s a good one! That's a good one boys. Blackie can see!”

“Yeah, Blackie!” the boy to the left repeated. Renée knew this boy, although knew was a big word… she knew his family, Sister Mary-Clarence’s Brother in law had two sisters, and this was the oldest sister's’ youngest son. Obviously not every apple from the family tree was edible.

She knew her voice didn’t hold much authority, it was more of a squeak than anything, but she knew the power of intent and if she could make them feel that to her they were nothing but a waste of air… Well that wouldn’t be too bad. “Oh wow, you must be the smart one, having these two little boys back you up, what did you do for them, bake cookies? Promise to change their diapers?” The boys on both sides seemed almost eager to rise to her bait. “Oh no, I see just like my deadbeat mother you spread your legs for them.”

Ok, so perhaps this wasn’t her proudest moment, but… they had started it, and she had been tense all day. And it was three on one, and who would believe a three-year-old girl had beaten three big tough boys? They didn’t even have a bruise on them, other than the ones on their ego. And well, teeth fell out all the time at their age…

“Surely it wasn’t ‘La p’tit catin’ that pulled it straight out of your foul mouth.” Renée threw the little white tooth next to the boy. “You really should be nicer to little girls.”

She was about to grab her milk when she turned one last time. “And if you ever insult my mom again. I’ll. tell. yours.”

By the time she was back in Mrs La Velle’s apartment the first of the two liquorice sticks was halfway done. “I’ve brought the milk!” she chirped happily.

“Oh, good, chére. Did you have any problems?”

“Oh just some loose pebbles, but I’ve put them back in their place.”

If you asked Renée about making decisions,  
she’d tell you to prioritize, family comes first,  
it makes decisions much easier.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - When It Rains...  
by Ally Haert

Ginger stretched on the tips of her toes, pushing the last clean mug into place on the shelf. She stepped back with a sigh, wiping her hands on her apron.

Rain fell softly against the window, a dreary warning about Ginger’s walk home. The sun had already set, promising a chilly and wet world outside the cozy Diner’s doors.  
Ginger leaned against the till and rested her eyes, only to startle when someone poked her side.

“That ain’t a bed, chère,” Vicky said sarcastically. Ginger blinked owlishly at her.

“Here,” Vicky handed her a few menus and gestured to the box where the rest of them hung. Ginger put them up numbly and tried to smother her yawn.

“Busy night tonight,” Ginger mumbled as she ran a hand absently through her hair, pulling her hairpins askew.

“It’s the full moon, I swear. Brings out all the crazies.”

Ginger made a noncommittal humming noise and turned to wipe the counters down.

Nearly every seat in the house had been packed for three hours straight. Evidence lingered on every surface of the chaotic dinner rush - dishes were stacked behind the counter in piles so high they flooded over onto the shelving and beyond. The rubbish bin in the kitchen was overflowing, spilling onto the floor mats beneath.

Ginger herself had refilled the coffee pot no less than eight times during her shift.

The mess was overwhelming.

Ginger didn’t know where to start.

Her arms felt tired and weak, she had never worked so hard in her life. It was supposed to be easy. She would get a job, provide for her daughter, stay sober. She had no idea working would be… so much work. She didn’t want this job anymore. All she wanted was a nice warm blanket and a cigarette.

She emptied the last clean dish from her bucket and turned back toward the kitchen to wash another batch, feet dragging the whole way.

Vicky found her there minutes later, elbow deep in soapy water and trying not to cry.

“Chère! What’s wrong?”

Ginger sniffled pitifully, lifting her soapy arm to rub her nose.

“N- nothing, ma’am.”

“Pshaw, girl,” Vicky set down the dirty cups she’d carried in and crossed her arms. “Dis mon la vérité’. What’s really wrong, chére?”

Ginger’s face fell, fast and hard. She was tired and there was food in her hair and she wanted to go home and customers had been mean to her and- and-

Vicky made a tutting noise and hugged Ginger firmly from behind.

“You look like you been rode hard and put up wet, sweetie,” Vicky reached past Ginger and turned off the faucet. “Why don’t you leave the rest for Earl and me? You go home and have yourself a nice warm cup of tea. Ok chére?”

Ginger nodded and wiped her hands on her apron, soaking the dirty cotton further.

By the time Ginger had clocked out and grabbed her coat, stuffing all of her tips into her purse and slinging it over her shoulder, the rain outside had turned from a drizzle into a downpour. Ginger pulled her collar up and tucked her head down. The first blast of water on her neck and hands was shocking enough that Ginger hopped back under the awning of the Diner.

She whimpered and stamped her foot. Why? Why would it be sunny all day and only now start to rain when she needed to walk home?

Ginger lurked in the doorway feeling miserably sorry for herself as she watched the storm. The minutes dragged on and it showed no signs of stopping, until she gave up hope that the clouds would pass and started again with a resigned grumble.

Her walk home was gloomy. She tried to avoid the puddles where she could, but it didn’t take long for the rain to seep into every crevice of her shoes, soaking her stockings and leaving her toes so chilled that they started to numb.

Ginger was going through a list of all the horrible things in her life, cursing every one of them, when she almost ran into a solid chest. She reared back, startled out of her stupor.

Before Ginger had time to react the figure latched onto her purse and jerked back hard. The unexpected force spun Ginger round, twisting her shoulder painfully and sliding the handbag off in one motion.

It was all the way down her arm before reflexes kicked in and Ginger closed her fist around the strap, hanging on fiercly.

The man grunted at the unexpected resistance. He braced his feet and pulled.

Ginger opened her mouth, scream rising as she pitched forward.

The strength of the man, the weakness in her arms, the slick of the rain - it was too much. She fell to her knees, and the purse slipped from her grasp.

It had only been a couple of seconds.

“No!” Ginger screamed in panic. Her entire day’s tips were in that purse.

The man was already running, clearly too swift for her to catch. Ginger scrambled to her feet hysterically, determined to pursue, when her thief ran into trouble of his own.

One second Ginger was stumbling to her feet, watching her wages disappear down the street and into the night. The next, she was watching the thief go ass over tea kettle as he was close lined.

The purse-snatcher took an arm right across his neck, feet sweeping out from under him. His arms pinwheeled awkwardly as he landed on his back without anything to break his fall.

In an instant Ginger’s rescuer was upon the man, kneeling on his chest and lifting the man’s head by his hair, only to slam it down with a sickening thud. The thief went limp and Ginger’s rescuer rose, purse in hand.

He turned and slowly walked toward her, hands held up in a calming gesture.

“Are you alright, chére?”

Ginger stood frozen in place, rain running down her bangs to drip in her eyes. A streetlamp was at the man’s back, throwing him into sharp silhouette and hiding his face in shadows.

Her heart hammered in her chest and everything in her screamed run. What her hero had done wasn’t very heroic, it was violent. And terrifying.

But he had her purse.

And it was too late, because he was standing right in front of her.

Ginger could feel a panic attack coming on as the theft and the rescue started to catch up with her. When her rescuer reached out a soft hand to touch her shoulder, something inside her snapped.

Ginger shrieked, foot lashing out and catching the man. Right between the legs.

He went down with a choked off groan, purse dropping from his grip and landing in a puddle.

“Jesus fucking shit, ow!”

Ginger snatched her purse up and clutched it against her chest dramatically.

She turned to run, tears in her eyes, when her rescuer rolled over and the light from the streetlamp finally hit his face. Her eyes widened in shock.

“Cameron?!”

“Ohh,” Cameron moaned, body curled protectively around his crotch.

“Is- is that you?” Ginger whispered. Her hands were starting to shake and a rushing noise was filling her ears, drowning out everything else.

“You kicked me.”

Ginger dropped her purse, hands coming to cover her mouth in shock. “It is you.”

“Why’d you kick me? Fuck, it hurts,” Cameron was struggling to his feet slowly, one arm still guarding his groin. He looked up at Ginger and opened his mouth to say something, only to be caught off guard with an impressive slap.

Cameron’s head snapped to the side and he scrambled backward with a cry of alarm.

“You!” Ginger lunged, kicking and punching. “A year!” Kick. “I’ve looked-” Punch. “ - For you -” Slap. “- A whole -” Kick. “Fucking!” Slap. “Year!”

Cameron fell back on his ass, cowering. “I know! I’m sorry!”

Ginger froze, hands still raised in fists. Slowly her arms dropped limply to her sides and Cameron peeked out from between his limbs.

“You...knew?”

Cameron’s eyes widened in fear. When Ginger didn’t move, Cameron slowly dropped his hands and rolled to his feet.

He couldn’t meet her eyes, but he nodded miserably. When she didn’t say anything, Cameron risked a glance at her face, which was the exact moment Ginger burst into hideous sobs.

Cameron’s eyes went round as saucers, Adam’s apple bobbing. His hands fluttered out awkwardly, as if he didn’t know where it was safe to touch the crying girl.

“I- oh, merde.”

“Wh- wh- why? I thought you liked me? My poor Remy!” Ginger wailed piteously through her tears. Her eyes were screwed shut and snot ran freely down her face, the least flattering Cameron had ever seen her.

With a sigh, Cameron stepped forward to pull her into the circle of his arms.

“It’s alright, chére,” he rested his cheek against her hair, waiting out her sobs.

She seemed to lean against him for a moment, before stiffening suddenly, hand coming up between them to push him away angrily.

“You stole my bébé!” she hissed, face flushed and wild.

“No, that’s not-” Cameron backed quickly out of kicking range, hands darting down to cover his crotch. He continued more calmly, “It’s not like that. Remy is fine, he’s really ok. We...we’re helping him.”

“We? Who the fuck is we? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through this past year? Wait,” Ginger seemed to rear back in growing horror, “Were you following me?!”

“Yes. I mean no! Not today-”

“What?!” Ginger looked torn between running away and attacking him again.

Overhead the clouds parted with an ominous crack of thunder and the rain increased, drenching the two completely.

Cameron knelt down, picked up Ginger’s purse and tossed it to her.

“I’m sorry, Ginger, but you need to leave.”

Ginger hesitated, shivering. Thunder broke almost directly overhead, making the two of them jump. Reluctantly, Ginger took the bag from him and crossed her arms.

“I’m not going anywhere. I want some answers, you- you- pieds putain!” Ginger yelled over the storm.

Cameron shook his head and motioned to the purse-snatcher who was beginning to stir on the ground behind her. Ginger had completely forgotten about him.

She backed away slowly, with growing alarm. When she turned back around, Cameron was gone.

Ginger stood, rooted in place. A groan from the man on the ground spurned her into a dead run.

She ran the whole way home, tears mixing with the rain, completely unaware of the new business card safely tucked inside of her purse.

~-/-~

Hands.

There were hands grabbing at his shoulders, pulling him down. He struggled against them, swung his arms and kicked his legs desperately, to no avail. The hands were never attached to arms, never had bodies he could push away.

He was being dragged down, further and further into a deep, dark place.

He would be lost forever down there, he could feel it. With a cry, he threw his head back and searched far above. High up and out of reach, a small pin-prick of light.

Remy fought. He fought like a drowning man fights for the surface, anguished for one more breath. With a strength fueled by fear, he brought his elbow back sharply, knocking the hands loose.

He reached one tiny hand wildly towards the light. Desperate, hoping, praying…

The light winked out.

Darkness.

Remy woke up screaming.

On the other side of town, so did Renée.

~-/-~

Renée wiped her face with a shaky hand, blinking against the darkness of her room.

What time was it?

Her brain felt like it was running on a delay, sleep still clinging to her muddled thoughts. There was something that had woken her...what had it been?

Even now, moments after waking, the emotions were intangible. Fading. It had been something scary. A nightmare?

She couldn’t remember.

Renée squinted around the dim room, stopping once her eyes came to rest on a sleeping form. On a worn sofa in the corner lay Ginger, still in her work apron. Renée shook the last traces of sleep from her head and silently slipped from her perch.

It wasn’t a proper bed, not really. Ginger hadn’t been able to afford new furniture and most of the things in their home were like that - second hand, worn down, dirty.

The apartment was small, no more than two rooms. Even the bathroom was out in the hallway, shared with the rest of the floor. There was a small space for cooking and a small bedroom that the two of them shared. Pushed against the far wall was an old sofa where Ginger slept most nights.

Renée slept on an old daybed that was missing the rails and the boxspring. Every time she climbed onto it, the mattress would sag dangerously in the middle, dipping down toward the floor. But it was a mattress and that was more than she’d had before.

Renée padded silently across the room and came to a stop near Ginger’s face. She was close enough that she could smell each stale puff of breath, count each freckle.

Poor Ginger.

Renée had never been able to think of the woman as a mother.

For one thing, Ginger was mentally younger than her. Though Renée struggled to put a number to her age, she had advanced so far past the immature stumbling of youth that she couldn’t look at Ginger and see a role model.

For another, Renée could still remember what having loving parents felt like. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to Ginger, but even the best parents in this life would’ve struggled to compare to the warmth of that memory. Ginger never stood a chance.

Still…

Renée reached out a soft hand, stroking Ginger’s wet hair gently.

She didn’t hate this woman.

Renée stood there for a while, humming softly. Outside the bedroom window thunder started to roll in a menacing volley.

A storm was coming.

For a moment, just a brief moment, Renée considered crawling into bed with Ginger.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room, throwing her mother’s features into sharp relief. Renée watched the wall as the shadows danced. As quickly as it came, it was over and the room was pitch black once more.

Several seconds later the thunder rolled in, covering the sound of Renée slipping out the door.

~-/-~

Jean-Luc squinted at his cards, taking a long drag on his cigarette. The tip glowed a bright orange, smoke wafting up to the ceiling. To his right, Emile was doing his best to appear calm and unruffled. So he had nothing. Jean-Luc glanced to his left, scanning the other men.

Bernard was tapping his cards on the table absentmindedly. He’d fold on the next round of betting.

Jean-Luc finally stopped on Thomas. Thomas met his gaze serenely, face betraying nothing. Jean-Luc looked down at his cards to hide a frown. Thomas was the only hold-out at the table. The man had no tells.

Jean-Luc weighed his options. Raise the bet? Or switch the cards around?

Oliver leaned against the counter over by the ice-box, peeling an apple with a small blade. He met Jean-Luc’s eyes and raised a single brow, smirking. No help there, then.

A small scream down the hallway made all the men jump. 

There was a beat of silence that lasted half a breath, where each one of them looked at the other. Jean-Luc was the only one who didn’t hesitate, out of his chair and moving toward the bedroom before the scream had even stopped. 

“Remy?” he opened the door swiftly, knife in hand. 

Remy sat on his bed, blankets pooled around his lap. Tears ran down his face and he scrubbed them away, hiccoughing. Jean-Luc slipped the knife back into his belt with a sigh of relief, waving the men on his heels away. 

Jean-Luc slipped into the room and scooped the little boy into his arms, shushing him. 

“It’s alright, chére. It was just a dream,” he murmured. His hand made slow, soothing circles against Remy’s back. The toddler settled against him quickly, grabbing fistfuls of Jean-Luc’s shirt in his tiny hands. 

“Dey were gonna drag me down.” 

“Who was, chére?” 

“Da hands. And the light was gone,” Remy broke off a yawn. 

Jean-Luc sat down on the edge of the bed and moved Remy to sit across his lap. He hummed lowly, rubbing the boy’s back, waiting for him to continue. 

The room stayed quiet and dark, and eventually Remy’s breathing started to even out again. Jean-Luc shifted his arms, ready to lay the child back down, but Remy jerked awake and grabbed Jean-Luc’s shoulders tightly. 

“No!” 

“Chére…”

“Don’ wanna,” Remy buried his face in Jean-Luc’s shoulder, squeezing him tightly.

Jean-Luc paused, struggling internally. It was late and the boy should be sleeping but…

A little hand crept round and started to play in the soft hairs at the back of his beck. Jean-Luc stood with a sigh, hugging the boy tightly.

“Just until we finish our game, chére. Then it’s right back to bed!”

Jean-Luc could feel Remy grin into his neck.

Little scamp.

~-/-~

All of Remy’s uncles were making a terrible fuss over him. It was wonderful!

The bright hallway lights had been hard for his eyes to adjust to after the dark of his bedroom, and he had blinked against it for a while. But now he was sitting at the grown-up’s table with his Père.

Uncle Oliver gave him apple slices to eat, and they even had the peels off.

Remy bounced in his Père’s lap, happily munching the fruit.

The grown-ups were playing a game with cards. Remy didn’t know how to play, but it looked like fun.

Once the apples were gone, Remy began to grow bored. He thought about asking to play the game, but decided against it. He didn’t want Père to remember he was there and send him back to bed.

Père was very distracted with his card game, now.

Remy peeked over the edge of his Père’s arms, looking at the black and red squiggles on the cards facing them. He scrunched his nose up. None of this looked like fun. He looked up at his Père, who had his tongue between his teeth and looked like he was concentrating hard.

Across the table, Uncle Thomas was staring at his Père. Uncle Thomas looked bored too, and Remy almost asked him if he wanted to go play, but stopped when he looked harder. Uncle Thomas looked bored, but he felt...excited.

“I call,” Père pushed forward a stack of the funny, colorful coins. Uncle Thomas broke out into a wide grin and Père leaned back with a groan.

“Flush!” Uncle Thomas laid his cards on the table and started laughing. The bubbling, happy feeling coming from Uncle Thomas grew and grew until Remy burst out into a fit of giggles.

“Cho! Who are you rooting for, eh?” Père nudged his side, laughing. “You f'ink it’s funny when your old man loses?”

“Père never loses!”

The men around the table roared with laughter. Père shot them dirty looks, but on the inside Remy could tell he was happy.

“Père, can I play?”

“Let him, Jean-Luc. At dis point, he’d probably do you more good den harm!” Uncle Emile was teasing Père, but Père didn’t feel angry.

“So you want to play Poker, chère?” Père lifted him up higher so he could see the cards.

Remy nodded, happy he had dodged getting sent back to bed.

“Alright. But just for a little while. Don’t f'ink I’ve forgotten it’s past your bedtime.”

Remy nodded innocently, confident he could delay bedtime indefinitely.

“These are the cards. We each get five of them and whoever gets the best five cards wins. Understand?” Père brought the plastic playing cards down in front of Remy’s face, letting him touch them. Remy nodded excitedly. He was going to play with the grown ups!

“When someone has the best cards, they win the whole pot.”

“The rainbow money?” Remy asked, pointing at the colorful playing coins.

Several of his Uncles chuckled at that and the room warmed with mirth, curling in Remy’s chest like something soft and fuzzy.

“Oui, chère, the rainbow money. There are two ways to get the best cards,” Père was shuffling the cards, quicker and quicker until they blurred through the air, dancing and weaving around his Pere’s hands. Remy’s eyes widened in delight.

Père was amazing! It was like magic. Not a single card fell.

“You get them through luck,” Père started to pass the cards out around the table. “Or….”

Père stopped passing the cards out and set the deck aside. He grabbed the cards in front of them and turned them over with a flourish, “You make your own luck.”

“They match!” Remy clapped in delight at the big “A” on all the cards.

“Co! How come there’s five aces?” Uncle Bernard cried in protest. “You’re cheating!”

Remy felt as all the other grown-ups turned on Bernard in exasperation.

There was a long beat of silence where Père raised his brows and pinned Uncle Bernard with a wry look.

“Mais...you are…” finished Uncle Bernard quietly.

“We’ve all been cheating,” said Uncle Thomas in a long-suffering voice.

“We have?” Uncle Bernard whispered, horrified.

Uncle Oliver was shaking with silent laughter. Père clucked his tongue and gathered the cards back up.

“One more hand, then it’s off to bed for you, chère.”

Père was careful to shuffle the cards slowly this time, and when he dealt them out all the grown-ups were serious once more.

Remy sighed, resigned to the fact that the fun lesson was probably over now.

Père and his Uncles went around the table, taking turns throwing the rainbow money into the middle. After a few turns throwing money in, Uncle Bernard grew irritated, bright, sharp and buzzing like a hornet.

Remy squirmed in his Père’s lap. A few moments later and the irritation spiked, before mellowing out into a calm acceptance. Uncle Bernard threw his cards away with a scoff and leaned back in his chair.

Uncle Emile was next. He stank of fear and discomfort, sticky, sour and clogging up the table. Remy leaned further back into his Père’s chest, missing the bright happiness of the room not long ago.

Uncle Emile gave up and sat back to watch.

It was just Père and his Uncle Thomas now.

Père’s face was intense, his gaze laser focused. Uncle Thomas looked calm, but inside he began to bubble once more.

Remy looked up at his Père’s face, over at his Uncle Thomas, back up at his Père.

Père….didn’t know. Père didn’t know that Uncle Thomas was being tricky again.

Remy frowned.

With one small hand he reached up to grab his Père’s neck and he tugged down insistently. Père bent over with a raised brow.

“Oui?”

“Uncle Thomas has the best cards! Don’t do it,” Remy warned in a grave whisper.

Père gave him a strange look. He leaned back with a chuckle. “So little faith in your Père?” But inside his Père had gone a bit colder and sharper.

Remy drooped, quickly leaning back against his Père’s chest to hide from his Père’s calculating look.

The round played out. Uncle Thomas stayed bubbly and stoic. In the end he won.

Remy started shifting, ready to get down and head back to bed, when Père’s hand wrapped around him, holding him in place.

“One more hand,” his Père was smiling at him warmly, but the way he felt on the inside made Remy’s tummy flip-flop.

Remy nodded quietly and settled back in his Père’s lap.

Uncle Emile shuffled and dealt this time, chatting away with Uncle Oliver. Uncle Oliver and Père were giving each other a knowing look, and soon, Uncle Oliver was pulling up a chair next the Père and Remy.

Uncle Emile was the first to fold. Uncle Bernard stayed in right alongside Père and Uncle Thomas, this time.

Lots of rainbow money was put into the middle. Eventually it was Père’s turn, and Père looked down at Remy calmly.

“Well? What should I do, chère?”

Remy closed his eyes and concentrated.

Uncle Thomas wasn’t bubbly this time, he was wiggly, jumpy. Inside he was squirming like a wiggly worm.

Remy turned to Uncle Bernard, chasing the next sensation. Uncle Bernard was tapping his cards against the table and his face was blank, but inside he was popping like fizzy drink, sweet and light.

“Uncle Bernard has the best cards. He’s gonna win, Père.”

The whole table heard, that time. Uncle Bernard’s eyes widened and he met Père’s gaze in surprise. Pere nodded gravely at him and Uncle Bernard flipped over his cards.

Three 5’s and two of the pretty ladies with a Q on them.

Remy froze as all around him, the room swelled in suspicion.

“Emile?” Père said calmly, “Deal those cards again.”

~-/-~

Eight times in a row.

Remy never faltered once. The kid closed his eyes and waited. Sometimes he’d tilt his head as if listening. Every time, he’d open his eyes, look back up at Jean-Luc, and predict the winner of the hand.

Eight times, and not once was he wrong.

No one was laughing now.

~-/-~

Jean-Luc shut the door as silently as possible. He had no desire to wake the toddler, not after it had taken a solid hour of holding his hand and stroking his head before he finally fell asleep once more.

Oliver leaned against the wall, opposite of the door. His arms were crossed and he tapped one foot absently, lost in thought.

“Do you think -”

“I don’t know what to think!” snarled Jean-Luc, cutting him off. “Fuck!”

His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles turning white. He took a deep breath in and held it, ignoring the way that Oliver raised his eyebrows and shot him a look.

He blew out the breath, shaking the tension from his hands and stuffing them into his pockets.

“We need…. we need to find-”

“Boss!” Cameron hollered, doors slamming behind him as his feet slapped wetly down the hallway. “Boss, we’ve got a probl- mph!”

Oliver and Jean-Luc lunged at the same time, covering the young Thief's mouth and shushing him with panicked expressions.

“Tuat t’en grosse bueche!” Jean-Luc hissed angrily. “If that kid wakes up on account of your dumb mouth, you get to put him back to sleep.”

Jean-Luc frogmarched Cameron backward down the hall, not releasing his mouth until they were far enough away. Oliver lingered just long enough to peek inside the bedroom and make sure Remy was still sleeping, then he joined them in the parlor.

“Now, what’s so fucking important that you’re charging in here waking up the whole damn neighborhood.”

“It’s Ginger, she’s back.”

“Who the hell is Ginger?” Oliver frowned. He turned to Jean-Luc for answers and stopped when he saw Jean-Luc’s face.

Jean-Luc felt faint.

No.

No.

“Cameron, who the fuck is Ginger?” Oliver asked sternly.

“I’m sorry boss, it was an accident.”

Jean-Luc’s chest felt tight and hot, like he couldn’t get enough air. “How-”

“She was mugged! And I had to stop him.”

“Stop who? Who was mugged?” Oliver’s voice rose in irritation, but Cameron was completely ignoring him, staring pleadingly at Jean-Luc instead.

“He wasn’t one of ours, boss. I don’t know who he was. But he got her purse, and- “

“Was she hurt?” Jean-Luc hated how hopeful he felt.

“No. Uh, I mean, she seemed fine when she…” Cameron squirmed uncomfortably, hands coming to rest near his crotch. “Well, she seemed fine anyway. But she recognized me and I gave her your card.”

“You what?!" Jean-Luc growled.

“Enough!” Oliver raised his voice, stepping between the two and placing a hand on Jean-Luc’s chest, pushing him back. “Who the fuck is Ginger?”

“Remy’s mother,” Cameron muttered.

Oliver’s face lit up with recognition, then fell. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Right. That’s enough. You’re not dealing with this right now,” Oliver turned, fully facing Jean-Luc. “Go to bed. I’ll handle this.”

Jean-Luc puffed up his chest and squared off with Oliver, and for a tense moment they met each other’s gaze. Slowly, Jean-Luc deflated.

Without a word he turned on his heel and fled towards his bedroom.

Oliver watched him until he disappeared around the corner. He turned back to Cameron, expression severe.

“Now,” Oliver’s voice brooked no argument. Cameron’s eyes widened and he gulped loudly. “Tell me everything.”

~-/-~

Renée listened as the sound of thunder grew more and more distant. The rain was tapering off slowly, returning to a lazy drizzle that would probably continue until sunrise.

She sat on the wide porch of her apartment, bare legs swinging slowly over the side.

It was something about living in the South that she was still getting used to - the fact that storms didn’t always bring a break from the heat. She sat there in a thin nightgown, watching the passing rain, and still felt sweat beading around her brow.

The sun would be up soon and it promised to be a muggy day after such a long night of hard rain.

Renée grimaced at that thought. Humidity always made the heat unbearable. She couldn’t wait until Air Conditioning was a common thing…

She waited there, not really thinking about anything. It was almost meditative to watch the flashes of lightning disappear beyond the horizon and wait for the sun to rise. Eventually the rain stopped, though the sound of water dripping down from trees and awnings still gave the world a freshly bathed feeling. Cicadas started to chirp and Renée finally pulled the flashlight into her lap.

Time to get to work.

She flicked the button and pointed it down into her lap. Slowly and carefully, she moved one hand into the beam of light and wiggled her fingers, watching where the shadows cast by her hand danced against the porch.

She let her mind clear, emotions draining away and thoughts evening out into a placid lake of calm.

She was still. She was patient.

It took a long time, long enough to give her doubt, but finally she felt a small flare of connection. It was a spluttering, barely there thing, fluttering around inside her chakra coils like a tiny puff. Barely tangible.

Slowly, so slowly, Renée tried to reach out for that connection. There was a brief moment where she thought it responded. Renée brightened, excited to feel something after so much effort, and watched as the shadow of her hand wavered and seemed to move.

But just as quickly as it happened, the connection broke, overwhelmed the moment she tried to pump chakra into it.

Renée poured more effort into it, slightly overzealous, but it slipped from her grasp and her shadow snapped back into place, inert once more.

She grabbed the flashlight with a screech of pure frustration and held it over her head, ready to throw. She froze there, hesitating, before lowering the tool slowly with a sigh.

It had been like this since the moment she’d arrived.

It was Earth, she knew that much.

There were songs on the radio, songs that she recognized. And she lived in the iconic New Orleans with Cajuns, all things she had heard of so very long ago. Distant as the memories were, they were verifiable proof that she had returned.

Except there was chakra.

From the moment she’d been reborn, she could feel it.

It didn’t burn her lungs or invade her body the way it had in Konoha, but it was there. She could feel the unsettling heat of it in the people she passed every day, could feel it rumbling and churning in the Earth deep beneath her feet.

But it was different as well.

In Konoha it had never been anything more than pure energy. Powerful, all consuming and ever present. But in the end, that’s all it was. Like the sun in the sky, chakra was relentless and uncaring. It endured, unaffected by the mortals who used and formed it. Chakra had always been and would always be.

But here on Earth…

Maybe it was because of her new empathic senses, but it almost felt like the chakra here was...alive.

Renée shuddered.

No matter what was wrong with it, it was chakra. It moved around living things the way chakra did. It thrummed in the shadows and called to her mind. It had given Renée no small measure of hope.

If chakra was here, this childhood would be so much simpler than the others she’d lived through. She would be able to strengthen herself, defend herself, in no time at all.

It was with growing dismay that Renée began to realize that things wouldn’t be that simple. Of course not. Things were never that simple, not for her.

At first she had written it off as a product of her infancy. One could hardly expect a newborn to mould chakra properly.

As she aged through the first year, every single effort at control failed and she began to have doubts. Perhaps this new empathic trait of hers was interfering with her chakra control?

Yeah, empathy. That hadn’t been fun to figure out.

For the first several months the sheer deluge of emotions had overwhelmed her, preventing almost all coherent thought. It was difficult to tell where she began and where she ended. The revelation that the wild concoction of emotions might be coming from other people was nothing short of terrifying.

It felt like the deepest violation possible.

Back when she’d lived in Konoha, having people invade her thoughts or emotions was her worst nightmare. It was shocking to realize that invading other people’s emotions could be just as horrifying.

Almost all of her efforts in that first year had been spent on building up some kind of emotional shield between herself and the rest of the world.

When the men had come and taken her brother, she’d still been too powerless.

Renée set the flashlight down on the porch and leaned her forehead against the railing with a sigh.

“Cho! What are you doing out here all alone, chère? Does your Mommy know you’re out here?”

Renée didn’t move at the sound of Mr Smith’s voice. She counted his footsteps as he crossed the porch to stand next to her.

“Petite?”

Renée looked up slowly, tired in so many ways. Mr Smith stood with his hands on his hips, large leather jacket draped over one shoulder. He was still wearing lipstick, smudged at the corner. It made his severe frown a bit less intimidating.

Renée grabbed the flashlight and stood on creaky legs, stretching out the stiffness.

She turned back toward the door without answering him.

“Feh!” Mr Smith scoffed at her retreating form, shaking his head. “Some people are so strange.”


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Question and Be Thankful  
By Tsuki River

If there was one thing Josie hated, it was a cheater. She had dated more than her fair share of them and something about the fact that they wanted to cheat while she was dating them always made her feel like she was, less.

It was for that reason that it had taken so long to work up the nerve to see if her current boyfriend, Cameron, was cheating on her.

Cameron had been acting secretive as of late, not the kind that came before some surprise he had been planning, or even the type that he fell into before a big job. When either of those things happened there was always this undercurrent of excitement that was detectable in just about everything he did. No, this was different. He was being evasive and quiet; like he was ashamed of something.

She didn’t like it because she really liked him. But regardless of how great of a guy he was, if he was actually cheating on her, she would kick his ass.

So here she was, standing in front of the diner where the girl that, according to some of the more observant old crazies ‘That boy has been following ‘round every night when she gets off.’ Standing there, trying to work up that last bit of nerve she needed to face the facts.

As it turned out, the facts chose to face her first.

The diner door swung open and Skinny ginger waif of a thing stepped out.

“Hey there, I was wondering if you were going to come in or what because some people are getting uncomfortable. “

Josie shook her head, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

The waitress smiled at her, “Well then come on in and grab a seat, I’ll get to you in a moment.”

Josie nodded and stepped into the diner.

She sat down at a small table and picked up a menu to see what she wanted while glancing at the waitress occasionally, trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar. She recognized her as the girl that Cameron had been apparently following home, but it was something more than that...

The other woman walked up to her table, “Good, you're seated and all, now; my name is Ginger and I’ll be your waitress. Our special today is the cheese grits, and no meal at our diner is complete without a slice of our banana foster.”

Josie put down her menu and looked up at Ginger, “Ah, yeah, I’ll take the chicken fried steak and an order of Hoe Cakes, and to drink I’d like a glass of Tea.”

Ginger smiled at her, “Sweet or unsweetened?”

“Sweet.”

“Alrighty then, will that be all?”

“For now, maybe later I’ll get some of that Banana Foster.”  
The waitress nodded and put her pen away before going over to the kitchen window and handing over Josephine’s order.

Josie sighed and looked around the diner, really taking it in for the first time. It was like many other diners, with its black and white checkers and its rocket paraphernalia, here they made the seats in the shapes of the things. The walls of the restaurant were wallpapered in large prints of the city in the 50’s and everything was accented with a shade of green that made it seem almost rustic.

After completing her once over of the diner Josie turned her attention once again to the waitress, Ginger. Even the name sounded familiar, but she knew that the elderly people on the street didn’t tell her it.

“How are the wife and kids Mr. Greggor?”

“Doing fantastic Ginger, and what of your little girl, Renée was it?”

“Well you know how little girls are what with two of your own. Now hows about I get you a nice warm cup of coffee?”

“Much obliged Ginger.”

Ginger, has a girl, and a little blue heart on her wrist... It couldn’t be... Could it? There was no way that this was the same Ginger that inadvertently pushed Cameron her way, right? But then again, it would make sense, a whole hell of a lot more sense than Cameron cheating.

Ginger returned with her tea, “Here’s your drink, We’ll be getting your food to you in just a moment.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, I’ll go check on that food for ya alright?”

Josie nodded and Ginger went off with a practiced swish of her hips.

She was nice, and if she was the red-headed Ginger that had lead Cameron her way, well she would just have to figure out why in the world he was keeping an eye on her. With a smile she accepted the plate of food that Ginger had brought over and decided that the best way to do that was to spend more time around her. Satisfied with her decision she took a bite of her food and nearly moaned in delight, she wouldn’t mind coming here more often at all, if everything here was this good.

~-/-~

The Berkleys were preparing. It was the 31st of October and they wanted to celebrate it right. They had been getting ready for this day for the past month, picking out the right cloths, food, and candles, and most importantly, the right sacrifice. The dear dark child had been living beside their home for 18 months. Surely it was a sign that their offerings were being met with favor. This year they planned to make an even better sacrifice, the year had been good to them and they had to give an appropriate sacrifice as payment and thanks. They had even built a proper alter to make the sacrifice on this year. It was a shame that they had to hide it away in order to protect it. Some people had no respect for the property of others, honestly!

It was six in the evening, almost time to begin. Patricia and Isaac Berkley each grabbed their bags and brought them out to their new shed in backyard, trying to keep the contents of said bags as quiet as possible. Once they were inside the shed and the door was locked they opened the (skylight? Window on the roof?) to illuminate the building with the light of the dying day. It had an oddly pleasant interior considering its contents, bones of small animals and a satanic pentagram painted on the floor. An altar stood in the center of the shed, draped in satin the color of a dark red wine and embroidered with black snakes and licks of flame around its edges. On top of the altar was a silver chalice that had been polished to the point that it shone, a candelabra with six unlit candles in it, and a stone bowl.

Mrs. Berkley took a deep breath and whispered, “Oh please let it be this year.”

Mr. Berkley put a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, “I’m sure that it will be. We have been shown much favor already and this year will be our best yet. Just you wait, next time we make an offering, we will be thanking Lucifer for granting us a child.”

Patricia nodded resolutely, “Let’s get going then.”


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
By MisteriosaSaky

'This is unexpectedly easy,' Renee thought to herself, throwing a coin up and down in a distracted manner, 'Not that that is surprising though, I mean, I am using ninja tricks against civilians...'

A huff left Renee's lips, 'I wish I had a different way to practice these skills, but if worse comes to worse I suppose I have a way to survive, right?' Catching the coin mid flip and storing it in the hem of her dress, she swiped her hair out her face.

"Ginger must be on her way home. I better hurry up there, I am not supposed to be here after all," she mused under her breath, walking towards the busy street, easily dodging between adults, kids and animals barely gracing them with a glance and without changing her speed.

~-\\-~

"Renee? Are you awake?" Ginger called from the doorway, concern and worry lacing her voice.

"I am," Renée answered from the bathroom, her voice, as always, charged with maturity and intelligence beyond her age, "I was trying something new. I made a few changes to the costume you wanted me to wear, it's alright, isn't it?"

"I, I think so..." Her mother answered, 'I love my baby girl, but sometimes she… she’s too smart,’ She thought, walking towards the bathroom in curiosity, "Then, what are these changes you made? You’re still going to be a princess, right?"

"Not really, you know I don't like that all the girls are princesses, I want something a bit more original." Renee answer behind the door, "Yeah, I like it, this look great!"

"Can I see?"

"Huh? Sure," She pushed the door open and walked out, her costume a mixture between black and red, a dress that at first sight looked like it had a life of its own, flowing around her small body in an unnatural and dangerous halo, her upper face hidden under a black mask that made her eyes look even darker and striking than before.

'T-This, with that costume she looks like some sort of demon!' Ginger thought to herself with a shudder, "Chère, are you sure you want to use that? You might scare someone."

"Bu-, right, you are right..." She said, disappointed at Ginger’s reaction.

"How about you use that inside? And when we go out you use the other one?"

"Okay mom," she said with a nervous smile.

~-/-~

'Argh! Of course Ginger was going to be opposed to that costume, I don't remember very clearly my first life, but I know that I died well into the 20th century. There the goal was to scare people, but here....' Renee thinks, suppressing a sigh. Looking around she could see kids and adults wearing bright and colourful dresses and masks, all enjoying the festival, the ambience saturated with bright lights and positive emotions.

'But, this is nice...' Renee looked around, took it all in and tightly held Ginger's hand in her own, 'I wish Remy..he was here with me,' her lips forming a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Chère, is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong." Renee answer with a bright smile. Turning around to look at Ginger, a tingle on the edge of her sensory range distracted her. Looking around she fixated her eyes in an effort to find whatever was causi-

A hammering feeling bombarded her senses, the feeling remarkably similar to what she imagined it would feel like if her toes were stepped on by a two ton elephant. At first she was going to dismiss it as her imagination but this, this feeling was overwhelming. 'The hell?! T-that...that is not normal! This chakra, it’s so twisted it hurts to even experience the touch of it.’

She pulled her senses back, she didn't want to feel that particular pain again. But as quickly as she pulled her senses back, a battering ram nearly knocked her over as another wave of that perverted chakra spread out as if it was searching for her.

She’d let go of Ginger to grasp her head, as if holding it would stop the pain from cracking her skull in two. But Ginger didn’t notice it, and quickly they were separated and weren’t able to see each other in the mass of people celebrating Hallow’s Eve.

After recovering from that last onslaught, Renee looked up, and just past the Berkley’s house saw a man looking her straight in the eyes. The man was a bit pudgy, and his movements seemed odd, as if he wasn’t sure how to move his body, as if he was just trying it out. And then his mouth got wider; as if he was trying to smile but didn’t know that smiles were more than stretching a mouth… and it didn’t stop stretching, it just got wider, nearly splitting his face in two! And his eyes... they looked dead. He didn’t even blink and- and- and-

She was hit with another wave of that chakra, this time pushing her to the ground. It felt so wrong, so dirty.

She looked back up, searched for the thing, for it was certainly no man, but it was gone. It had found her, and now it was gone.

~-/-~

It was later. Not much time had passed, but the moon was already higher in the sky than it was before. So, it was later, but probably not by too much. 'Damnit! This is unbelievable! Where the hell is Ginger?' Renee wondered, looking at the chaos around her. She had lost sight of her when she felt those flashes of chakra… What had that been? She held her hand to the side of her head, as if keeping it steady would remedy the lingering unease and dizziness.

'I am so grateful for my ninja training right now. Sure, I am nowhere close to where I want to be, but at least I know how to look for people properly.’ She sat on top of a roof, perched like a gargoyle looking over the street, 'I can't see her, I wonder… Is she looking for me?… What about that thing? Has it gone?'

A soft sigh escaped her lips, lifting her hands to massage her temples, 'That thing, it was looking me dead in the eyes. It was searching for me, and it was strong. Too strong… If that thing is coming after me, I can’t protect her… I can't even protect myself, that thing had me floored in seconds.’

Giving herself the luxury of a last look around, she found Ginger. Her mother was hugging someone, but from this distance she couldn’t see the man's face, only wild long hair tinted a light brown color.

Using her ninja skills, she climbed closer to them along the rooftops. Only, to freeze as she got close enough to see the man's face. Her heart pounded in her chest, as if trying to tell her something. She knew him, recognized his face… but from where? Why was Ginger so close to him?!

"Cameron! I - I lost Renee! You must help me!" Ginger held onto his jacket as if it was the one thing that kept her from falling over a cliff.

"I'll try, but with all this chaos I don't know if I'll find her"

"But you promised that Renee and I could be safe! Your lot already took Remy from us, you are supposed to-"

"I get it. I do, but I don't know if I can find her."

'S-She knows who take Remy away!? How, wha!?' Renee thought with tears running from her eyes. A second later she was turning around and running to her home, ex-home, packing the essentials and her costume, her eyes dry and a fiery expression in her face. Only, before she could make her escape she was confronted with the Berkeley couple.

"Petite, are you alright?" Ms Berkley asked in concern, kneeling in front of her, "Did we do something to upset you? Did we not please you with our offers?"

"W-wha? No!" Renee exclaimed in surprise, "Why would..."

"Does that mean we did it right? Will you give us a baby?" Mr Berkeley asked now, his normally happy face set in serious lines - there was something odd about it...

"Wah...?"

"Or maybe we need more sacrifices?" Ms Berkley continued.

'Babies? Sacrifices? The desperate hoping to please tones... This didn’t make sense. "Uh-um, you want a baby?"

"Of course we do, we made sacrifices every year asking for just that." Mr Berkeley stated.

"Maybe we did the wrong ritual?" Ms Berkeley continued. “If you want, we could worship another demon? Just tell us, we’ll do anything!”

'They want a baby? They are doing rituals to have a baby? Why are they telling me this? They think I am a de-? Of course they think I am a demon…’ And then a cold part of her brain whispered the words, “You could take advantage of this”, She didn’t want to use them but maybe they could help each other out? Her mind was racing and the cold hard logic, the part of her that knew how to get the most out of a situation, took over and decided. "I might help with that, but no more rituals - just the one favor. There will come a day when I will give you a price, and you must pay it. You’ll get your baby, but only then.”

"Done!" The couple exclaimed in unison.

'That was too easy.' She felt her stomach churning, it was wrong, but they practically forced her... Didn’t they? She couldn’t just turn them down. She was doing them a favor, Really...

~-/-~

Later that evening, having lost Ginger once more because of the Berkley’s. Renee tried to find her again. she was about to get back on the same roof as before to spot her when two arms surrounded her. 

“Ah, petit cheré, there you are.”

Renee had to fight every instinct not to struggle for control. She was on edge.

“Mom, you found me.”

“I was worried sick… You were gone.” Ginger seemed to be distressed. Of Course she was, she had just lost track of her child…”Never let go of me again when we’re in a crowd like this!”

“I want to go home.”

Gingers’ face softened. And that stung, ‘cause just minutes earlier she had seen her mother betray her in the most horrible of ways. 

“Yes, let’s.”

Ginger picked renée up and held her like she did as when she was a baby, and walked them home. Ginger, every other step, looked to see if Renée was still in her arms.

But Renée was looking over her shoulders, looking for the man Ginger had spoken to before.

'I have a trail now, I can find you Remy. Just you wait, big sister is coming for you!'


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 - Perspective  
By Dinner

 

I acknowledge the four elements. Water in the North, incense to recognize the air in the East; flowers to the earth in the South: a candle for light in the West. It helps me keep perspective.  
-Laura Esquivel

~-/-~

Hell wasn’t just all doom and gloom. There were fire and rocks too, which could be pleasant if you liked that kind of thing. Ernie was not one of those kind of ‘people’. Ernie wasn’t like the people he worked with. He was different. He liked other things...

Ernie belonged to a long line of minion demons that did the important things in hell. Each day was the same for him. He’d wake up, watch some mortal-tv, he particularly liked the ‘Abuse and Neglect-network’, and make sure his feet were nice and stinky by soaking them in Boston-sewer-water. He knew Bernadette, the demon that sat in the cubicle next to him was really into stinking feet and he had a major crush on her. Hopefully, one day, she would notice the smell and say hello to him.

After his morning ritual, he’d take a ferry to get to work. His cave was pretty close to the Little Magma, a river that was an offshoot of the Big Magma River. The ferry was always three minutes late, but each morning he’d be standing five minutes early at the dock anyway. After all, you never knew when Charon would decide that he might actually want to be early for once; he was fickle like that.

Charon wasn’t the smartest of his kind, or maybe just not the most up to date. There were about six hundred sixty-something Ferriers that travelled the rivers each morning. And Charon, well he was old. While the service should be free since old Hades had kicked the bucket, Charon still asked for the old, and very much out of custom, Obol before letting you on.

“It’s tradition. No faring the rivers without first paying a coin.”

Ernie didn’t mind though, he had obols to spare. They came in the boxes of cheese grits he ate every evening. Some people collected them and some of them were actually quite nice. His uncle had Julius Caesar's obol, it wasn’t worth much, but a true collector would pay up, apparently that guy had been some mass murderer or something, and well, demons liked that kind of thing.

By the time he arrived at work, the rest of the desk-demons had also just arrived. Hundreds of little boats docked at the same time and everyone seemed to rush toward the big cave they called The Binary Depths. It used to be called the Paper Stack, but ever since computers got brought in from the future, it was all digital. Ernie had worked there ever since hatching from his egg, and he remembered back when they had worked on Papyrus. He was actually pretty good at his job, although he wasn’t as good as Bertus. But then again, no-one was a good as Bertus.

Bertus could process thirty cases in one hour; Ernie managed almost half that on a good day.

It took a while to push himself through the crowd that tried to enter the cave all at once. Ernie wasn’t the tallest, broadest or strongest among his peers, so he got stepped on a few times. Today was no worse than normal. By the time he had reached the Soggy Paper Bridge he was only bleeding from two places.

The Soggy Paper bridge was a slippery slope. It hadn’t always been soggy. That had only been after the last “bring your spawn to work day”. Turns out that one of the spawns had actually been a water-demon. The brat flooded the whole cave - it had taken months to get the place back to normal. But the bridge somehow had never dried…

“Hey watch where you’re going!” Ernie yelled when another desk-worker rushed past him with a stack of laptops in his arms.

When Ernie finally reached his cubicle in the far east wing of the cave he sat down and tended his wounds.

“Aw, bless! A double skull fracture.”

Those things took forever to heal, He’d probably have a headache all the way up ‘till lunch.

“Hah Ern! Did Brutus get to you again?”

Ernie turned around, the bandages he was wrapping around his head losing their grip and unceremoniously falling apart. “No, Scully was behind me, and in a rush.”

“Oh that bitch, you got off easy.”

“Yeah.. Hey Norm, I meant to ask you yesterday. Did your laptop get that 10.1.3.4 update?”

Norman scowled. “Yeah, can’t play Solitaire anymore. But Faust showed me this trick, turns out you can backlog.”

“Oh! Neat.”

“Yea. Hope the Supe’s won’t notice though. Rather not get 40 lashes.”

Ernie shuddered. “No, wouldn’t want tha-”

A bell rang, and the entire cave shook. “Time to start.” Norm said sitting down in his own cubicle and starting his laptop.

Ernie did the same, and so the hours went by. It seemed to be a pretty normal day, especially for Halloween. There were the normal cases of someone swearing. A simple grade 1S-file would be enough for that.

Name: Susie Brighton. Age: 8 Place: London. Swearwords: “Bloody hell!”

And so many more followed. It was tedious work, but important. Especially keeping track of the intent behind what people said.

Today was fun though, he got to file a Z-file. For zealous-isem gone wrong. Some religious nut decided to do the snake thing… Those things were heavy on the intent, and really good for soul-collecting later.

By the time lunch break had started Ernie was wiggling his toes. Bernadette was, as always, seated in the cubicle left to him. She’d have to walk past him to go to to the dining hall, if he wiggled long enough and good enough, surely she’d notice the smell. But only a minute later his hopes fell again. She’d walked by without even glancing at him.

It was a sight to behold though. Bernadette was easily one of the biggest desk-demons in these parts of the cave. She had these grotesque horns and spikes protruding out through her skin, starting at the tip of her head and zig zagging all the way down to her hands. There was this really twisted one on her left shoulder that made Ernie just weak in the knees.

It was in that state that Norm slapped his head. “Time to get some lunch, Casanova.”

Lunch during weekdays was a simple affair. Every wing had their own dining hall, and every day the same lunch was served. And even though it was Halloween, it was just another one of the normal lunches. Halloween wasn’t a holiday for them - they were much too busy.

The dining hall was a wet cavern with ever-burning candles, a gift from the great Fire-Sorceress Illyanka, and was filled with big tables in long rows and stools that left splinters in your butt if you weren’t careful.

Ernie wasn’t that careful. So the moment he sat down he could feel a particularly long splinter dig deep into his flesh. On every table there were big bowls of green goo. Green goo was nice and fairly tasteless. Which was better than what was served on weekends, those bowls of Red goo did have taste - but it was a terrible one. Vanilla custard was such a terrible flavour; he always got the urge to scrape it off his tongue.

So, anything interesting happen’ so fa’?” Norm asked, bits and pieces of goo dripping from his chin.

Ernie shrugged. “I got to file a Z.”

“Oh, what grade?”

“Three.”

Norm bent forward conspiratorially . “A three?”

Ernie did the same, the splinters wiggling in his flesh. It actually felt kind of nice. “Yeah, snakes man, I ain’t kidding you. Seriously, Humans are loopie loo!.”

They finished their lunch, flushing away the goo with a few big gulps. Then grabbed a flask filled to the brim with the devils' drink, so their walk back was enjoyable..

And off to work they went again. Ernie was almost at the end of his shift, it was just ten past six, when he heard a high shrill voice.

“I’ve got a D5!”

It was like the entire swarm of demons around them stopped everything. The temperature actually went down a degree or two.

“I’ve got a D5!” she repeated. And then all hell broke loose. Literally.

Bells started ringing, demons shrieking, hell hounds whimpering and over it all one voice boomed. “Everyone, start procedure 666!"

Everyone quieted down, all laptops were restarted except for Bernadette’s. All computing power was now being used for this single case.

Ernie couldn’t believe what had just happened. Never had his section of The Binary Depths ever had a D5 - an unknown demon sighting in the world.

If you asked Ernie about perspective,  
he’d tell you to get your own.

~-/-~

There are days, in which minutes feel like hours. For Remy this was one such day. It had started that morning, Daddy left for a big job, leaving him alone with Lucinda. And Lucinda was boring. And not in the typical grown-up way. She didn’t just not play games, she didn’t really feel either.

And Remy knew feelings. Everyone had them, it was how he connected to people, even though he’d never realized that himself before. There was Père, he mostly felt love from him. And there was Cameron, who mostly felt giddy? Cameron felt like he felt when he tried to do something that he shouldn’t. There were words for it, but Remy didn’t know them yet. His father was teaching him though. So soon, he would be able to put all his thoughts into words!

But Lucinda... Lucinda felt blank. Like a wall before it had been painted. And no matter how hard he tried, he just kept crashing into that blankness. It was like there was nothing there. He didn't like it. Still, he wasn't sure he disliked her - after all she brought him muffins, and he really liked those.

"Remy, ready to add a candle to the pumpkin?"

“Why don’t you feel?”

Lucinda blinked. "What?"

“You don’t feel ... “ Remy looked at her, his head tilting as if to see her from another angle.

"...Let's get the pumpkin sorted. Then we'll get you in your costume."

Distracted by the idea of food and fun, Remy let his train of thought go. “Yeah, let’s!”

Lucinda smiled, but it was an awkward thing. "Do you have your eye patch?"

Remy put his hand in his pocket, rummaged through it and retrieved a tissue. It was the only thing in there. “No?”

“Good thing I do then.” She said holding a circular black felt patch up. It was threaded with a bit of elastic. "Here we go."

It felt tight, but looking in the mirror he also thought it looked cool. And if he considered his choices, cool won over tight. Simple as that. “I’m a sailor!”

"Pirate. You're Captain John Lafitte remember?" She examined him with a critical look. "Better."

“You’re doing it again. You look but don’t feel.”

"I don't know what you mean. Now when is your dad coming again?"

Remy’s face lit up. “He’ll be back after dinner but before dessert!”

Lucinda turned to her handbag and pulled out a stick of eyeliner. "Now you're just missing one final touch. Every pirate needs a cool scar!"

After he was all dressed up, Lucinda sat on the couch, watching him with blank eyes leaving him to play. But playing alone wasn’t nearly as fun as playing together. And there were ways to get adults to play, even when they didn’t want to, Remy had to use them a lot.

“Luc… Can you-"

"No."

"But..."

"No."

“Mayb-”

“No.”

Ok… so Lucinda wasn't going to play… Well, then he wouldn’t play either!  
And so Remy ended up grabbing a book. “Père says reading is important. You’re old, you can read to me.”

"What exactly do you want me to read?"

“The story of us!" Remy said earnestly.

"Us?"

"Like Père does!" Remy beamed, “Where I’m the hero?"

"...Right." She glanced over the books, her brow furrowed. "Well how about this one? It has a fish on it."

And then Remy felt it. There was a spark. He didn’t know what it was, but he could feel her. "Lu! We have to go this way! Now!"

If you asked Lucinda about perspective,  
She would tell you  
perspective was another word  
for view.

~-/-~

The night wasn’t quite over yet. Halloween's last minutes had stretched into hours as Renée found herself thinking about what had happened that night. She was lying in her bed, Ginger holding onto her, as if she was a big teddy bear.

Her thoughts were crowded, and focusing on just one thing was difficult. There was the threat of the not-man with the chakra-battering-ram. There was Ginger talking to someone about Remy. And the Berkleys acting all weird.

The latter she shoved out of her mind, she could think about that later.

But then she was still left with two things that she’d rather not think about. There were people with power in this world, people with Chakra capable of bombarding her just by focusing on her. She’d rather not think about it, but she knew better than to ignore things she was uncomfortable with.

That.. creature… had looked for her, she could still feel its eyes tracking her, connecting to her own and then flooding her senses with poisonous chakra. She had been weak, her knees had buckled and she had tried with all her might to protect herself. But she was at its mercy.

She’d hated it. Her inability.

But the weakness of that moment felt small compared to the feelings of betrayal. Ginger knew who had taken Remy.

Ginger pulled Renée closer and mumbled. “I love you, my little cheré.”

Those little words, they broke something her. And slowly, while she wept, and Ginger pulled her closer, slumber took hold of her.

z  
zz  
zzZ

The next morning she awoke to the smell of burned toast. Ginger was in the makeshift kitchen, she was squeezing some oranges and filling a beaker with the juices. It looked like a normal morning, but it wasn’t.

Renée had shut her eyes, but not rested. Her slumber had been deep and terrifying. And monsters she had thought long vanquished had reared their ugly heads once more.

“Ah, you’re awake Cheré.”

Renee didn’t turn around, the blanket she was under was nice and warm, that was her excuse. It wasn’t to hide her face, to hide her feelings that were so close to the surface this early in the morning. “G’mornin’.”

“Well, Vicky rung; askin’ if I could swing by early today.” The beaker was filled now, and Ginger had to be careful not to spill the juice all over the floor while she brought the plate with breakfast over. She settled it on the table made from crates. “Some kids egged the windows so she could use the extra hands.”

Renée had taken the time to school her face back to the normal, cheery child which was her default these days, but it didn’t change the fact she was still furious on the inside. “Sounds nasty.”

“It’s just eggs. Shouldn’ be too much. Want jelly on your toast?”

With a nod from Renée, Ginger spread the jelly and handed it over. “Mom…” Renée said slowly, carefully.

“Hm?”

“Last night… Did… I mean.. You…”

Ginger put her her toast back on the plate. “What is it cheré?”

If Renée was brave she would just ask her about the man and the conversation she had overheard.

“Thank you for finding me after I let go.”

But she was selfish. There was this part in her that couldn’t.. didn’t want to.. that wanted to protect Ginger from any and all harm, and that talk, it would hurt Ginger.

Ginger gave her a big smile and ruffled her hair. “I’ll always find you.”

Breakfast was silent after that. Ginger prepared to go to work and Renée was told to shower and go to Mrs. La Velle afterwards. Ginger left, leaving a kiss on Renée’s forehead. Love you’s were exchanged and Renée didn’t go the Mrs. La Velle after her shower.

If you ask Renée about perspective,  
she’d tell you that it can change,  
but in the end you still see the same thing,  
just differently.

~-/-~

Ernie woke up to the screams of his neighbours’ mortal-tv. He hated it when that happened, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. His neighbour was a higher ranked demon than him, he was just a desk worker, the lowest of the low.

Still, he followed his morning ritual. Yesterday had been an exciting day, and today he felt extra energized because of it, because today they would show the recording of the D5 on tv.

It wasn’t something they got to watch often, D5’s were special, An observer demon would be set on the case and those demons, they could record with their eyes. And mortal-tv normally would air a special about it the next morning.

So after preparing his footbath and finishing his breakfast the tv was brought alive by the push of a button. Another button changed the channel to the news station.

“-sper. But Nance, I think it is time for some very interesting news.” It was Jimmy Du Buerre, one of the underworld's most notorious newscasters. He wore a pinstripe suit, his snout like that of a pig and horns the size of a wrestlers arm sticking out of his head just behind his ears. Du Buerre, also known as the most eligible bachelor on primetime television, had been the face of his network's news for centuries now.

“Yes Jimmy, very interesting indeed. Our sources say that yesterday evening a notification of a D5 taking place in New Orleans was discovered by The Binary Depths.” Nance announced brightly. Nance was Jimmy’s sixth co-host this year. No one knew why so many female co-hosts ended up being unheard of after quitting the show after just a month or two, but Nance had been Jimmy’s sidekick for almost three now. “Now Jimmy, I heard that you got your hooves on the tapes made by the Observers’ office.”

Jimmy winked, and his smile widened revealing several rows of jagged teeth. Ernie couldn’t help but admire him, if only he had his devilish good looks.. Bernadette would surely fall head over heels for him then. “Well, Nance, you heard right. And we will show the footage of this exciting event after the break.”

The camera panned out as the lights dimmed and the commercials started. Ernie hated commercials. It wasn’t like he had any money left at the end of the week to buy anything. His job didn’t pay that well. Actually, sometimes, every eastern, he had to pay his work… A desk-demons’ life wasn’t one to write home about.

“Do you want your spawn to get the very best? Are you tired of shaving your wife's’ back? Or do you just want some good old fashioned adultery going on?” Ernie looked at the tv, that was a new commercial… “Well here is your chance, just call our numb-”

Ernie tuned the tv out - it was just another infomercial - and started getting ready for work. He still hadn’t cleaned out his extra set of nostrils, and well, they were starting to clog. By the time he got back to watching the tv the D5 footage was being shown and the reporter was excitedly describing what he saw.

“Well if one thing is obvious, our observer has found the girl that is supposedly a demon in the human world! The call to hell was made by her neighbours Isaac and Patricia Berkley, these two christians-turned-devoted satanists made their offering, thanking Lucifer of all demons for the GIRL WITH THE DEMON EYES.”

The reporter pointed his thrice pronged tail to the profile pictures of the Berkley’s. “Now, this is an INSIDERS SCOOP, but my sources at the ALTAR OF SACRIFICES informed me personally that the Callers, Mr. and Mrs. Berkley were sacrificing various small animals and goods in turn for a baby of their own.” The reporter bent forward, so he got closer to the camera. “Which we all know, is no longer something the department of sacrifices is allowed to manage since the great tragedy of ‘21”

Ernie sat himself down in his comfortable chair, the one directly in front of the tv. This was looking interesting. The girl obviously realized she was being watched, the spectral camera, so the reporter explained, clearly registered the use of an energy very much like magic by the girl used to make contact with the observer.

“Bless the pits!” Ernie gasped, Bernadette had found a real loose demon in the human world.

“It looks like this demon eyed girl has control over her own magic but can’t stand to be in contact with the magic of an observer demon. Now as we all know, ever since-” The reporter continued.

But it was almost time the leave, so Ernie shut the tv down. He’d have another long day at the office. And he had to be early in case the ferry wasn’t three minutes late. You never knew with that old man.

~-/-~

It was almost an hour later before he got to greet Norm, who looked like he had been punched in the nose just one too many times. “You okay Norm?”

Norm nodded. “Yeah, Brutus got to me… I wasn’t walking fast enough.”

“Tough... “ Ernie grabbed one of the band-aids and handed it to Norm. “Did you see the news this morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it! Ern, it was a D5! Our D5, I would-”

A shrill voice interrupted their conversation. “My D5, you mean, right Norman?”

Ernie’s head turned with such speed he’d probably feel whiplashed later. “Bernadette.” He managed to stutter out.

Bernadette didn’t look at him, she was actively not looking at him. “I actually got an interview later today.” she said, slowly blinking her eyes and moving her shoulder spike suggestively at Norm.

Ernie’s heart fluttered and dropped at the same time. Bernadette only had eyes for Norm...Not him. He wiggled his toes, in a desperate attempt to gain her attention but by the time he got out of his stupor both Bernadette and Norm were sitting behind their laptops.

The bell had rang, and it was once again time to take place in his cubicle and start working.

If you asked Bernadette about perspective,  
she’d tell you to bugger off,  
hows’ that for perspective?


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - The Borders of New Orleans  
by Ally Haert

 

_Ginger trembled as she stared down the muzzle of the revolver calmly pointing at her face. Her fear was a living thing, a terrible beast that was currently gnawing her heart and trying to escape her ribs. Her hands were cold and her feet were numb. She didn't want to die, oh god, she didn't want to die._

_She backed away slowly, tears running down her face._

_“O-Oliver, please! D-don't shoot-”_

_The man shook his head sadly but the gun in his hands didn't waver._

_“Sorry, darlin'. It's nothing personal,” his hand tightened and Ginger's eyes widened so much it hurt._

_“Please!” Ginger screamed. “I-”_

_“I have my orders,” the man's eyes hardened and he slowly shook his head. And something in Ginger knew._

_This was it. She was going to die here._

_Oh god._

_She wanted to hold her babies again._

_She wanted to run._

_She wanted to-_

_The evening rang with a single, deafening shot._

~-/-~

Renée stood under the eaves of the bistro, watching the doors of the jazz club across the street with a hooded gaze.

She needed to time this perfectly, couldn't be off by even a second.

There was once a time when blending into a crowd had been second nature, an easy offhand thing she did without effort. It was a skill, honed through years of practice and forged under the careful tutelage of ninjas.

She remembered the ease, the logic, the theory. But something about it all was still incomplete, like trying to remember a dream after waking. The details became fuzzy and muddled, the theory impossible to put into practice.

It was frustrating in a truly unique way to remember the emotion and the feeling of knowledge, all while the knowledge remained outside her grasp.

If only she could still remember how to shadow walk. If only she could still mould chakra. If only she could remember how to set a proper trap. If only she could walk with the Cat Step, silent and unnoticed. If only-

A skinny boy turned the corner, pony-tail swinging with each jaunty stride. On his shoulder, an inconspicuous brown satchel.

Renée straightened, body tensing. She pressed her back harder against the brick wall behind her and suddenly wished for something better than a newsstand to hide behind. It had seemed large enough to hide her at the time, but what if he saw her? This couldn't go wrong.

Across the street he stopped before walking into the club, turning to wave at a man seated outside the door. The two men chatted. Renée watched their lips move, squinting. If only she could still lip read. Another thing to add to her never-ending to-do list.

Renée found herself holding her breath.

The boy finally broke away and walked through the door. Renée let her breath out in a gusty sigh and started counting in her head. First in English, until she reached 50. She switched to Japanese, the words coming slower and a bit clumsier in her mind. She was up to 98 (in Cajun) when the boy exited. Without the satchel.

Renée leaned forward, eyes narrowing. Gotcha.

~-/-~

Renée had spent a lot of time trying to come up with ideas on how to intercept this drop.

They started out the same; first she'd formulate the plan, then she'd start to obsess over the details. Finally she'd discard the plan when it had too many flaws for her to safely salvage it.

Walk in through the front door? Too noticeable, too many unknown elements, too much risk. Nope.

Break in during off hours? There were no off hours, the place was patrolled, she didn't know about the internal security put in place. Nope.

Intercept the satchel en route to or from the club? She would need to overpower an individual three times her height and four times her weight, and she'd have to do it without the aid of physical conditioning, chakra, jutsus, seals, or abilities. All while remaining unidentified. Nope.

The sad truth was that she hadn't been able to come up with a foolproof plan. It had been different, in Konoha. She wasn't really sure why, but she had theories. She remembered how it felt to wake up in a different body, subject to a new biology.

Perhaps it was something to do with the Nara genes. She'd thought it more than once – that being blessed with a Nara brain had given her something extra, a little boost that hadn't been there before.

For a time, she had felt diminished waking up as Renée. It was hard not to, especially with prolonged exposure to Ginger. But just as her soul had adapted and grown under the careful guidance of the Nara genes, so too had her new mind taken a surprising turn.

Empathy and chakra sensing in a world that to all of her previous knowledge had been chakra dead.

And there were other times, times when she thought she felt something more. A shadow calling to her, in the corner of her eye. A watchful presence in her mind, reaching out from the dark corners of a room. It never lasted and despite almost two years of continual effort, she still had no ability to show for it.

In the end, it did no good dwelling on the past.

She was on Earth. She was Renée. And she didn't have time to come up with the perfect plan.

It might not have been the Nara way to do things, but perhaps it was the LeDoux way.

~-/-~

Renée walked down the cobbled street, head down and eyes forward.

At five years old she had perfected the fine art of trailing just a few steps behind people. If she timed it right, other pedestrians would walk past without a second glance. She had to walk close enough to look like she belonged to the people in front of her, but far enough that she didn't draw their attention.

She walked past rows of brick storefronts until she found a break in between. She broke off from the foot traffic, turning sharply into the mouth of the shadowed alley. It was a damp, narrow walkway, barely wide enough for one person to walk down.

Renée had been to many places, but none of them had adequately prepared her for the strange way that New Orleans sprawled. Entire city blocks were often filled with grand, brick buildings built right up into each other, touching and meeting in an endless facade. The breaks between the shops were a maze-like web of alleys, claustrophobic and confusing.

Behind and between the buildings were the real streets of the city.

The roads were paved with cobblestone, worn and shoddy. The narrow walkways would widen at random, breaking open into beautiful gated verandas and courtyards, little hidden pockets of greenery and life. They twisted round, meeting and parting without any semblance of order until one could get so far removed from the main streets that the sound of cars and people would fade.

Renée walked them without hesitation, slipping past wrought iron gates and flitting through the scant few patches of sunlight that broke through the high buildings all around. Down there in the alleys and back roads, everything seemed cloaked in an eternal twilight.

Slowly working her way back south, Renée turned one last corner and ducked behind a cement patio with a large tin trash can. She spent a moment squatting there, waiting until her breath evened out and calmed after her long trek.

Somewhere on the next alley over she could hear a loud domestic scene, male and female voices raised in argument. Renée waited for the sound to fade and after a few minutes and a couple of slammed doors, it did.

Stretching up to peer over the trash can cautiously, Renée looked at the back door of the jazz club.

Somewhere beyond that door, past the kitchens and up the stairs, a brown satchel was waiting.

Two years. Two years. She had been tracking down the Thieves Guild for two years.

She could still remember the day Remy was taken, could remember every sickening, stomach churning detail from the way that Ginger had screamed and fled, to the vile concoction of emotions churning inside the kidnappers.

And that image, burned in her brain. Her baby brother, screaming, wailing, pleading for her, hand raised in one final attempt to connect with her. Then gone.

Renée had lost herself in so many ways.

Waking up in a new life, with a new family. Losing her brother. Losing her strength, her identity. Losing her direction.

It wasn't until that fateful Halloween that she had finally, truly understood-

No one was going to save her this time around.

There was no academy to attend, no team to rely on. Renée was on her own.

It was terrifying and liberating in equal measure.

With no structure in place and no almighty “plot” looming in her future, she had thought to forge her own destiny. And right now, that destiny included Remy. With her. Always.

Chasing down leads on his location had been pretty much impossible when she was younger. It always came down to the same frustrating reality – she was too young.

Too young to wander the streets alone, too young to gather information, too small to even reach the fucking door handles sometimes.

After too many failed attempts to count, she had spent the better part of her time training. Short of drastic, irreversible measures, there was nothing else she could do.

Her skills hadn't improved, not as much as she would have wanted.

But the older she got the more she felt in tune with her body, young though it still was. It was right around the following Cinco de Mayo – the spring after that ill fated Halloween – when Renée saw him again.

It was only for a moment, just a glimpse of his face through the pressing crowds. Ginger was holding her tightly (she'd always been paranoid about crowds after that Halloween) and Renée hadn't been able to break away. She'd only had time to see his face, to widen her eyes in shocked recognition, to meet his startled gaze.

Then he was gone.

Renée connected the dots after that. That man, with the brown hair and the dopey look on his face, he was following them. Following Ginger.

He knew them somehow. And most important of all – he knew where Remy was.

It was a dangerous game of cat and mouse after that. Renée pushed her limits, always on alert, always breaking away from her geriatric babysitter Mrs La Velle during Ginger's long day shifts.

How far would the men – for it was more than just the one man now – follow her into town? How long would they trail her, always dozens of yards behind, always ducking away out of sight.

What would they allow her to do?

It reminded her painfully of a sunny blond boy she'd known, once upon a time. The way she started causing trouble, the way she avoided her pursuers.

It proved better training than sitting on her porch, practicing her chakra.

She learned the city, learned the patterns and the ebbs and flows of it.

She started picking up the languages, too. English of course, Cajun and Creole, and sometimes even a few words or phrases in Spanish.

She practiced walking with her sight cast down, learned how to avoid a grown-up's gaze, how to hide her unnatural eyes behind the fringe of her hair.

She practiced conning stupid tourists out of their stupid money.

She busked with other street urchins, tapping her feet along to the rhythmic street jazz spilling out of every door.

Her days (and some of her nights) were spent lost in a dazzling kaleidoscope of vibrant southern culture. Sometimes it was like the whole world was a living breathing thing, and this one city had its finger on the pulse until she could stand on the edge of town, where the bayou met the stately southern manors, and look down on the sprawling lights of the Big Easy and she could hear the world's heart beating around her.

She began to notice patterns in the men that tailed her.

They never crossed into certain places in the city. At first it seemed like a fluke. After the third or fourth time, she noticed that they started to steer her away from the boundaries of those areas, like invisible lines lay across New Orleans, lines she learned through trial and error.

She began to draw a map in her head and places where the Thieves never followed stood out in bright, highlighted patches.

She always kept an eye out for that first young man, with his brown hair and his bewildered expression, but he never made rotation as her tail again. Renée's working theory was that he had been pulled off the assignment after she had recognized him, all those months before.

It took her a while, but eventually she even put a name to them. The Thieves Guild.

A guild. What did that even mean, anyway? Were they some kind of....thief business venture? Thieves for hire, maybe?

The men themselves were wrapped in mystery and Renée ran into dead end after dead end trying to track them down. Mailboxes in front of empty, boarded up houses. Singers and bartenders who had mysteriously moved away or vanished. One notable newspaper ad in the Sunday paper, a coded message asking for a meeting with a man named “Jean”.

All roads that eventually died out.

It was infuriating.

Renée had eyes on the city in the way only a child can. That is to say, completely and invasively. She had wandered and watched and learned this city and one thing was clear: The Thieves Guild was here.

How could such a large, notorious group stay shrouded in such perfect secrecy? Even the “hidden” villages had been a colloquialism, their locations more or less a public secret. And those were villages of supernatural, fire breathing ninja.

How could these mere humans be so hard to find?

In the end, it all came down to communication.

Food, transportation, housing. All the avenues that Renée tried to use to ferret out the Thieves had always fallen flat.

But communication couldn't be hidden. If these were criminals for hire, they couldn't remain completely separate from their clients. There had to be a way to hire them.

Which led to here. The brown satchel. Renée knew it was a drop point. After tireless searching, it was the only one she'd been able to find.

She knew, the way she knew that Ginger was never going to be a good mother, the way she knew that she'd never stop hunting for Remy, she knew that she wouldn't stumble across another drop.

This was it.

This was her one chance to trace her way back to the Thieves Guild and then she would- she would-

Okay, so she hadn't gotten that far.

But finding Remy had to come before anything else. One thing at a time.

It was starting to darken in the alley behind the jazz club. Renée stretched her legs one after the other, rubbing some life back into them. She had to time this just right. If she waited too long, it would be evening and her presence in the crowds would be far too noticeable, but if she went in too early there wouldn't be enough of a crowd to blend in with.

Her first plan had been to simply follow the messenger back to the Thieves themselves, but after a lot of anxious deliberating, she had decided against it.

There was no guarantee that the little brown satchel would be taken directly back to wherever it was they were keeping Remy and there was considerable risk that she would be discovered if she followed the man.

Her final plan had come to her in a fit of inspiration only a few nights ago. She hadn't worked out the kinks and fine details, but there just wasn't time.

The drop was going to be picked up today and then it would move, on to the next location, lost forever.

She stuffed her hand into her pocket, tiny fist closing around the smooth pebble within. She looked up at the small patch of blue sky between the rooftops far above.

The clock was ticking.

Hopping down from her perch, she crept towards the back door and quietly slipped inside.

~-/-~

Getting through the kitchen was easy, all noise and chaos and bustle.

Crossing the dimly lit dining area was a bit more dodgy. Renée kept her face forward, eyes down, walking with purpose. It was amazing how much body language could influence people. Renée found that if she just put a little effort into looking like she knew where she was going, like she belonged there, people wouldn't give her a second glance.

Renée ducked into a padded booth near the back wall, just in time for a Thief to walk past her.

She curled in a tight ball, one trembling hand clenched tightly against her chest. She tried making herself smaller, and waited under the table until she felt like she could breath again. When the Thief never came back, never pulled her out from her hiding place and tossed her to the curb, she shuffled out from her spot and slyly checked the room.

All clear.

Up the stairs, quieter now. Renée pulled on every single memory she could. She had no muscle memory to guide her steps, no deeply ingrained ninja techniques to fall back on. The sweat that was pouring down her temples and stinging her eyes was very real.

She kept quiet through the power of vigilance. She was in mission mode now, and nothing would distract her. Door after door was checked, quietly in, quietly out.

Some were bedrooms, some looked like dusty storage spaces that hadn't been opened in ages. Renée opened one door to reveal a richly furnished office and her heart soared with hope. She crept inside and scoured the room, top to bottom.

She had a scare when footsteps drew close outside her door, but the footsteps traveled on and the moment passed.

Renée wanted to cry. She didn't. She moved on.

The next room was full of shelves with all kinds of odds and ends, but none of them drew her attention. It was the brown satchel hanging from the back of a chair a few mere feet in front of her, that arrested her attention.

She didn't have much time left, she would have to do this fast.

Renée took the pebble from her pocket and clasped it gently between her hands, closing her eyes and clearing her mind.

She stretched her senses as far as they would reach, past herself. She touched gingerly upon the chakra in the air with a brief flare and felt as if it turned its gaze upon her.

She hated doing this, didn't think she'd ever get used to it. Chakra here felt alive, purposeful and sentient. It never felt as if she was tapping into a power source. It felt as if she was consuming something, something with intent.

It made her skin crawl.

With every single ounce of strength in her mind and soul, she pushed past her revulsion and dug, deep down against her core, pulling until she felt the strain of her coils as they spluttered and wobbled to life.

She furrowed her brow and bit her lips, sweat dripping down her flushed face. She couldn't maintain this, it was too difficult. It felt like she was arguing with the chakra, fighting to make it submit.

Her heart was starting to race now, strained as if coming down off a terrible adrenaline high.

Through sheer willpower she finally summoned it – the tiniest spark of chakra. It flared, rushing down her arms quickly. Too quickly! Renée thought with panic.

Her hands tightened around the pebble and she pushed, pushed with all her might. She could feel all the blood in her body pounding away, racing madly through her veins. The chakra ended at her fingertips, a fluttering puff of warmth, barely there.

Renée willed it to move, pressing her last reserves of focus and strength upon the pitiful energy, and at last it obeyed, rushing into the smooth stone and latching on.

Renée wobbled on her feet, afraid she was about to pass out. The moment passed but her vision never cleared, blurry and dim. On drunken legs she stepped up to the chair and dropped the rock into the brown bag.

Bingo.

She might not have any jutsu down, and she might be tiny and weak, but she could still sense chakra.

It had been so neat, once it had finally come to her. She could sense chakra. If she could figure out a way to tag the bag, she could let the drop go off without a hitch and follow it to its destination when the coast was all clear.

It was an elegant solution, with minimal risk to her.

She didn't need to steal anything, didn't need to tail anyone. She could wait, bide her time, figure out her next plan. And with any luck, this bag would make it somewhere useful, somewhere that would lead her to Remy.

One thing at a time.

The pebble settled safely into the bag and Renée took a shaky step back. Her eyelids scraped against her eyes like burning sheets of sandpaper, and inside her skull her brain was pounding. Renée felt on the verge of collapse, but she couldn't stop, she wasn't done. Not yet.

Ignoring the blossoming migraine, Renée called up her chakra sense once more, reaching out. She could feel it, her tiny piece of chakra, nestled deep inside the brown bag.

She'd be able to find it later – follow it, even.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Renée tried to whirl around to face the voice and ended up over-spinning, falling clumsily to the floor. She barked her knees, head swimming. Her eyes focused on the figure and her throat constricted in fear.

It was the Thief from downstairs. Shit.

He crossed the room in two angry strides and snatched the bag up, stepping over her shaking body in his haste. He rifled through the contents frantically, counting papers and envelopes.

No, no, no, Renée wanted to cry, to scream. Don't look, you can't-

He drew the rock out, turned it over to examine the bottom. Renée held her breath. The world stood still for a moment. Then with a dismissive flick of his wrist, he tossed the pebble aside and shut the bag.

Renée was going to vomit. Her whole body was shaking and she knew she was moments from passing out.

No.

This couldn't be happening.

A wretched sob tore from her lips, finally drawing the Thief's gaze. He opened his mouth, clearly about to launch into a massive scolding when he got a better look at Renée and froze.

“Mais, peeshwank, you don' look so good. Are you-”

Renée pitched forward, out cold.

~-/-~

Renée blinked muzzily against the darkness, head pounding. It felt like her whole throat was on fire, like her eyes were swollen and dry, like every drop of moisture in her whole body had been roasted clean out of her.

She tried to sit up, digging her elbows into the mattress and grunting. She was in her and Ginger's room, back in their apartment. The bedroom door stood ajar and soft voices were drifting in.

“-had no idea. She always stays with Eunice. I thought....I thought I was doing right by her.”

“You couldn't have known. We were told not to interfere.”

“Interfere? Don't give me that shit, Cameron! She's five!”

“Ginge, have you met your daughter? I've seen her do things that-”

“Fuck you! It's always the same bullshit with you, Cam. She's just a child! You should have told me she was out on her own all day. Jesus Christ, what, did you think I was letting her just wander around town, all by herself? Is that it? Ginger, the bad mom all over again?”

“No- that's- you're not listening to me!”

Renée tried to swing her legs down but they wouldn't obey, too weak and shaky. The old mattress squeaked loudly and the voices both fell silent for a moment before continuing on in hushed tones.

Renée tried to call up chakra, hoping to enhance her hearing, but her head protested with a sharp spike of pain that made Renée hunch over and cradle it in her hands with a grimace.

After a few seconds, the pain ebbed and Renée strained to hear the rest of the conversation.

“...not like that. She's a good kid, Cameron. She's just...bored. She's so smart. Honestly, I don't know where she gets it from,” Ginger's laugh sounded watery and tearful.

There was a soft shuffling sound, then Cameron replied, “She broke into a drop point, Ginger.”

“So?” Ginger sounded defiant.

“You don't get it. It's bad. If she'd compromised the identity of even one of the Thieves’ clients it would have been out of our hands. Guild law is absolute. The clients must be protected.”

There was a heavy pause, before Ginger murmured something too softly for Renée to hear.

“It means she would have been killed.”

Renée fell back against the pillow, staring numbly at the ceiling. Ginger's crying drifted hazily at the edge of her awareness. At some point the two adults stopped talking and the front door closed.

Renée lay in the darkness, body wracked with pain and spirit utterly broken.

Now what.

~-/-~

The summer passed into fall.

Renée never wandered anymore. She spent her days in a smelly old woman's apartment, covered in pets.

Ginger took less and less shifts, which made those long days a bit more bearable.

She hardly slept, hardly spoke, hardly ate.

Ginger noticed the change in her and fretted in all the most useless ways. She started bringing home hideous, girly outfits, started trying to ply Renée with dolls and toys.

Renée couldn't even pretend for Ginger's sake.

She lay in bed each night, staring at the ceiling. In her mind, one brother long gone, brown hair in a spiky ponytail, eternal smirk forever out of reach. When she closed her eyes, she now saw another. Red hair, dark eyes, soft heart.

Each night seemed to take him further and further away.

~-/-~

Fall came.

Ginger was trying so hard to make a connection with her, but it was never meant to be. Renée couldn't force love to happen and she found herself growing tired of the woman hanging around all the time. And she had been around, even more than before.

Renée thought about holidays. Thought about family. Ginger tried cheering her up by decorating the apartment. Garlands of gold and red hung around the window sills and the doorways, mimicking the seasons colors. A new record player took up residence in the corner of their living room and Ginger bought a couple of Louis Armstrong records. Smooth jazz trumpet drifted lazily across their small apartment most nights.

Outside on the streets below, the stately oil lamps were lit earlier and earlier every night. Leaves were changing, drifting down to create a crunchy carpet underfoot, slender branches reaching towards the sky, bare once more.

The rain came more often.

Renée would sit and watch it, running down the windows in little rivers and would think about how all water flowed to the sea.

~-/-~

Renée sat back on the couch, book propped open on the coffee table in front of her. They had furniture now. Real, proper furniture.

She gazed at the book in front of her with unseeing eyes. Behind her, Ginger bustled fussily around the kitchen, muttering and cursing, making an unholy mess of things, no doubt.

It wasn't their first Christmas together, but it was one of the first that they'd had money, and consequently, gifts to look forward to. Ginger had been working at the Diner the last two years and Renée had always spent the holiday with Aunt Laura.

Renée used to wonder where the rest of her family was.

Ginger never talked about it and Renée never brought it up, but it loomed in her mind all the same. Ginger had to come from somewhere.

“Almost done, chére!” Ginger called breathily.

Renée hummed in response, mind drifting. She was in no particular rush to open any of the gifts waiting for her. No doubt it would be useless, infantile rubbish.

She was going to love being an adult again. Only a little bit more than a decade and she'd be there. Renée sighed. She seriously sucked at cheering herself up.

Ginger swept in and started setting dishes on the coffee table in front of Renée, and at a motion from her mother's full hands, she swept the book up and set it aside.

The Christmas feast spread out before them in all its humble glory.

Arms free, Ginger stood there and seemed to search Renée's face expectantly for a moment. Renée tried not to meet her gaze, tried to pretend her mother wasn't standing there.

Things had been strained between them lately.

Ginger didn't know what was wrong with Renée, didn't know how to fix it. All she knew for certain was that somehow, some way, she was failing miserably as a parent.

The crux of it was Renée didn't know how to deal with her either.

Renée had never been very talented at social niceties, even less so when it involved lying or awkward things like emotions and feelings. Her new empathic skills only muddled things further, sending mixed signals until all Renée wanted was to draw back, to escape all contact and build up her walls into a safe cocoon, far from the world and its chaos.

Whatever Ginger was looking for in Renée's face, she never found it. Forcing a smile and faking a bit of cheer, she said, “I'll just grab the dressing and then we can say grace, alright chére?”

Renée suffered through the meal with minimal effort on her part. The food wasn't half bad. Anytime Ginger broke from her steady stream of chatter to ask her daughter a question, Renée would lift a bite to conveniently occupy her mouth. Ginger grew depressed, dark mood spilling over and blackening the atmosphere even further.

Ginger seemed to perk up once the meal was finished, rushing off to the bedroom with poorly concealed excitement.

She returned with a gaily wrapped box, no larger than a book, wrapped in garish pink paper and topped with a ridiculous bow. She walked toward Renée with a certain gravitas that Renée didn't feel was deserved, treating the present she bore as if it were the original frankincense and myrrh.

“This is from me, Renée. Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Ginger held it out, chest positively bursting with pride and elation. Renée could feel the bright starburst of her mother's emotions battering against her mental shields, pushing back her own dark mood.

Renée reached for it and allowed herself a small amount of hope. It looked like it was a book. Perhaps Ginger had actually gotten her something interesting? Renée ripped the paper away until the insides were revealed. She froze in shock.

Next to her, Ginger was smiling so wide you could see all her front teeth, “Well?”

Renée couldn't speak.

In her hands she held a necklace, draped elegantly in a soft velvet case. Was that a real emerald?!

“Is this...” Renée couldn't finish the question, couldn't even form the words.

Ginger threw her head back, pealing with laughter, “You love it! I knew you'd love it. The stone reminded me of your eyes.” She was sitting down next to Renée, reaching an arm out to give her a hug.

Renée ducked out of the arm, backing away slowly, and Ginger frowned.

“Chére?” Ginger's voice was uncertain. The silence dragged on, ratcheting up the tension in the room. Renée still hadn't dropped the necklace, holding it up in trembling hands.

“Is everything alr-”

“How much?” Renée's voice was soft. Ginger hesitated, uncertain.

“I...what? Sweetheart, what's gotten into you?” Ginger made to reach for Renée again, forcing the girl to back up a step further.

Renée finally lifted her head to meet her mother's gaze and the look of fury made Ginger stiffen in shock.

“How much did this cost?” Renée held the necklace up in a tiny fist, tears of rage gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“Renée! That is none of your business, young lady.”

“And that!” Renée whirled around to point at the record player, “How much did that cost?”

“Renée!”

“And the new clothes, and the new pots and pans!” Renée was shouting, tiny voice squeaking furiously. “How much, Ginger?!”

“Mom! My name is Mom!” Ginger's face was flushed with anger, voice rising to match. How dare her daughter behave so ungratefully? It was one thing to show disinterest in a gift, it was another thing to thumb your nose at all notion of manners and yell at your parent over one.

“No,” Renée looked poleaxed, hand slowly dropping to her side. All at once the thunder seemed to leave her in the wake of a new epiphany. “No, that's the wrong question...”

“Renée, you go to your room right now.”

“How,” Renée breathed slowly, “The correct question is how. How did you pay for everything?”

The color drained from Ginger's face.

The two stood in a face-off and the air between them fairly hummed with electricity.

“Y-you, you shouldn't speak to me that way,” Ginger looked wild, “I'm y-your mother-”

“You've been taking less shifts at work-”

“Go to your room.”

“So how have you been paying for it?”

“Go to your room.”

Renée leaned forward, tiny face contorted in an ugly sneer, “Are you turning tricks again?”

Slap!

Ginger's hand was still raised in the air, as if poised for another strike.

Renée's cheek was warmed with pain, ears ringing and eyes watering. She turned to regard Ginger coldly, and something in her judgmental gaze made Ginger snap.

“How dare you judge me, you ungrateful little- little-... I've been working my ass off to make a better life for us! How dare you accuse me of- of-....Go to your ROOM!” Ginger could barely speak, the words tumbling out of her in her temper.

“Then how did you pay for it!” Renée roared right back.

“The Thieves gave it to me!” Ginger towered over Renée, words echoing off the ceiling and filling the silence that drew out after.

“What?” Renée shrank down, eyes wide. She didn't look like a hateful little demon anymore. She looked like a terrified five year old girl.

“I- I-” Ginger's hand came up to cover her mouth, like she could somehow push the words back in. Ginger fell back against the couch absently, eyes glazing over. “They said...they said you were wandering the streets. But there was nothing I could do about it. I had to keep working, we needed the money.”

Renée was suspended in place, caught up in the horrifying confession with a numb detachment.

“So they offered. They said they could help. It's...we needed it,” Ginger looked pleadingly at Renée, terrified.

“We needed it,” Ginger’s voice wasn't anything more than a whisper.

Renée dropped the emerald necklace. It clattered against the floor, sounding so much like the end.

“You sold him. You sold my brother,” Renée's face was a picture of absolute betrayal.

Ginger sobbed loudly, shaking her head in vehement protest, “No, no it wasn't- it's not-”

Renée walked out the front door and didn't look back.

~-/-~

Ginger broke the record player. She smashed it into a thousand, million pieces.

She tore down the Christmas tree in the corner, screaming at it in pure, bestial rage.

She picked up her brand new copper bottom pot and hurled it against the wall. Her neighbor started banging on the ceiling, signaling their displeasure.

She tore. She fought. She screamed the walls down.

In her animal fury, a flash of sequin caught her eye. She turned round and bent over her purse, her shiny, glamorous purse. How dare it sit there, bright and cheerful? How dare it mock her pain! With a wail of temper she hurled it into the wall and it burst at the seams, contents exploding out like confetti.

Ginger fell to her knees, sobbing.

And right in front of her, a business card fluttered softly to the floor.

~-/-~

Renée tore down the empty streets, feet taking her further and further down country lanes, away from the city. She crested a small hill and fell to the ground, panting out sobs.

Her brother, her baby brother. Sold. Sold for a record player and some fucking jewelry.

Alone except for the jackdaws and the cicadas, Renée lay down under a bare magnolia tree and wept.

~-/-~

Across town, Remy bounced on his Uncle Oliver's knee, laughing happily. He was surrounded by family and it was finally Christmas! And his belly was full and there were so many new toys and-

His heart gave a mighty lurch.

Remy cried out, falling forward into his Uncle's arms.

His family gathered round making sounds of concern.

Without knowing why, an unbearable wave of grief swept over the little boy's soul and he began to cry.

Over his head, Uncle Oliver and Jean-Luc shared a look.

~-/-~

Ginger pounded her fists against the door.

Had there been anyone in the streets, she surely would have caused a scene.

Mascara had dried in ugly rivulets down her cheeks. Her feet were bare against the stone paving and her dress was utterly thrashed. More than anything else, the desperate look on her face betrayed her state of mind.

She beat the door, kicking it until it rattled in its frame.

“Jean-Luc! Jean-Luc you come out this instant!”

Across the street, under the shadow of a low archway, a man stood watching Ginger with an appraising gaze. At the mention of Jean-Luc's name, his eyes widened, before narrowing into a glare.

“Jean-Luc, you give me back my baby! I want my boy back right now or I'm calling the po po, you hear me?”

The man's whole body gave a surprised jerk at that. It was too much, he simply couldn't ignore this.

He stepped slowly from the shadows, running a hand through his curly black hair and adjusting his glasses, approaching the frenzied woman on silent feet.

“It's Christmas, darlin', we're closed for the day.”

Ginger whirled around at that, eyeing the man angrily, “You one of them? You’re a Thief?”

A slight pause, then, “Yes.”

“Take me to Jean-Luc right now!” Ginger thrust a finger in the man's face hysterically.

“Ah,” he gently pointed her finger down to the side, offering a charming smile. “I'm so sorry, but, as I said before, it's Christmas and Mistah Jean-Luc is busy today.”

Ginger lunged, grabbing on to the man's shirt.

“I want my Remy back.”

The man's eyes sharpened at that.

He slowly reached up and grabbed her wrist, smiling. “Then you'd better come with me, darlin'.”

“Who are you, then?” Ginger followed trustingly as the man linked arms with her and started guiding her away from the silent house front.

Another slight pause, then, “Oliver. I'm Jean-Luc's second in command. The name is Oliver.”

~-/-~

Renée wandered back into the apartment. Outside the sun was beginning to set, the day winding down to a close.

She could barely stand it. She was so alone. This wasn't Earth, not the way it should be.

There was chakra and there were empaths and terrifying, horrible monsters on Halloween. And there were Thieves Guilds and brother-stealing men and shallow, honorless women like Ginger.

And she was all alone, no place in any of it.

Powerless.

And tired. So very, very tired.

Renée got all the way to the front door before she noticed anything odd. The door stood ajar and several lifetimes worth of healthy caution made her pause and toe the door open slowly, alert for any trouble.

The apartment was trashed. Utterly destroyed.

Renée blinked at the mess. She screwed her eyes shut and opened them. The mess was still there.

She walked forward slowly, mind trying to absorb the chaos. Nothing they owned had escaped the destruction. Her life, her whole, meager life of five years, lay in rubble around her.

It was just one long nightmare that she couldn't wake up from.

What the hell was she supposed to do?

Was it the Thieves? Had they done this? Or was it someone else? Did someone come here looking for something? Was Ginger dead?

Oh god, should she involve the authorities at this point? What if they were already on their way-

“Renée.”

Renée's head snapped up in surprise. Ginger stood in the doorway, tragically disheveled.

“You came back. I'd thought...” Ginger trailed off, a fragile look in her eyes. She slowly walked inside the room and knelt down in front of Renée, reaching out to touch her cheek with a trembling hand. “You came back.”

Renée was drained, beyond her emotional limit. She nodded gently, unable to speak.

Ginger hugged her carefully, as if she were afraid Renée would pull away from her at any moment.

“You ran off before I could explain. I was so worried. But it's okay, Mommy's fixing everything. Everything is going to be alright,” Ginger was stroking Renée's hair softly, voice soothing, before she pulled back and met Renée's gaze. “I never sold your brother. I would never sell either of you. It's just...the Thieves are powerful and I didn't know what to do. I spent a long time thinking t-that I-”

Renée couldn't move. After everything she'd been through, it was all she could do to hang on to her cracking mental shields. Ginger seemed utterly wrecked, voice choking off before she swallowed and continued.

“I thought that maybe Remy would be happier, away from us. Away from me. I'm n-no good at this. I k-keep messing everything up. I know that I-I've done wrong by you. But I finally know, now,” Ginger's eyes glowed with fierce purpose and she gripped Renée tightly by the shoulders. “I know that I love you and your brother. And I know how to get him back.”

“What?!” Renée gasped, hands flying up to clutch at her mother's arms, heart clenching painfully in her chest.

“I went to one of their houses, Renée, and I met one of their top men. He said that they'll give Remy back to us. Would you like that, chére? We c-could be a family again.”

Renée couldn't even speak. The hope growing in her chest was too awful to bear. If this was real-

But this couldn't be real. Nothing had gone right in this new life of hers. She wanted to doubt, wanted to question, wanted to adhere to her jaded skepticism.

But...what if?

The two of them were weeping openly. Renée met her mother's gaze and nodded.

“What do we need to do, Mommy?”

~-/-~

Across town, Jean-Luc slipped out of Remy's room, shutting the door softly behind him. It had taken an age to calm his son down. Who knew what the poor boy had been picking up on, but halfway through a day that should have invited nothing but joy, he'd spiraled downwards, sharply falling into a pit of inconsolable despair.

Calming him down and settling him back into the Christmas spirit had been an impossible task. Eventually, Jean-Luc had just set his sights on soothing the boy.

They rocked in the dark nursery until Remy drifted unhappily to sleep.

Oliver was waiting for him. Jean-Luc shook his head with a jerk and made to push past his best friend. He wasn't in the mood to have another discussion about Remy's little “talents” at the moment. He just wanted a stiff drink and a long soak in the shower.

Oliver caught him around the arm, halting his progress with a serious expression. Jean-Luc met his gaze with a slight frown.

“Kitchen?”

Oliver shook his head, “Office.”

Jean-Luc's eyebrows rose and he followed Oliver up the stairs. As soon as the office door was shut, Oliver ran a tired hand through his shaggy, blond hair and launched into explanation.

“There are reports coming in from the Acoin Street outpost. They say a woman showed up several hours ago, banging on the door and looking for you.”

“Did they make contact?” Jean-Luc was puzzled why this little incident had traveled so far up the Guild food chain.

“No, but Jean,” Oliver's expression was stern and the pause before his next words were filled with a deep intensity. “They said it was a woman, asking for you, screaming about how you'd taken her son.”

Jean-Luc, very carefully, did not react. “Did she take the money? I thought she took the money...”

“Jean...”

“She was a junkie, back in the day. I bet you she blew all her money on dope and now she wants to shake us for some more cash.”

“Jean.”

“We can afford it, just pay her off again.”

“Jean!” Oliver's shout brought Jean-Luc to a halt. He continued, softer than before, “You can't keep making this go away. You need to think about-”

“I can't kill the mother of my son, Oliver,” Jean-Luc tried to sound convincing and failed.

“I'm not saying you need to, but you can't keep pretending like this will just go away if you ignore it. She talked about contacting the police, Jean,” Oliver's eyes were full of pity, but his words were unrelenting.

Jean-Luc closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Oliver waited patiently. When Jean-Luc opened his eyes once more, his expression was clear and full of authority.

“Right. It's time. Oliver, I want you and Cameron to go pick up Ginger and bring her in. I hear the lady's looking for me and you know how I feel about keeping a lady waiting.”

~-/-~

Ginger explained the whole meeting to Renée, who listened with growing unease.

Ginger had met the tall man named ‘Oliver’, who was apparently Jean-Luc's second in command. The man had asked an awful lot of questions about Remy and Renée, which Ginger had answered within reason. He seemed particularly interested in their eyes.

When Ginger had told him that she was ready to take her son back by force, if necessary, he had buckled.

But the Thieves cared for Remy and wouldn't part with him if it meant danger for the little boy, or so Oliver had told her. They would require proof of some kind, proof that she had reformed her ways and could be a good mother to her son.

It was too easy. Renée didn't like it.

“How do we prove you’re a good mommy?” Renée and Ginger sat on the floor next to each other, backs against the cupboards in the kitchen.

Ginger smiled tiredly, “Oh that? That's simple. We just show 'em you.”

Renée felt her heart drop and bit the rejection back that was on the tip of her tongue. Ginger continued on, blissfully unaware, “You come with me, chére, and you tell 'em how good you have it. They'll give Remy back fo sho’,” she trailed off, happy look on her face.

“I-”

“Just think- we'll have our little Remy back!” Ginger reached out and patted her knee happily.

“No.”

“What?” Ginger turned on her in shock. “What part are you saying no to?”

But Renée didn't have a good answer. This feels like a set-up wouldn't cut it. Renée's head fell against the cupboards with a sigh.

“....Nothing. Where do we meet them?”

~-/-~

Cameron led Oliver up the stairs of the old apartment building, past the long hallway full of neighbor's doors. They came to a stop in front of Ginger's apartment and knocked loudly.

There was a long pause. Oliver gave Cameron a look and Cameron shrugged in confusion before knocking again, louder.

The apartment was silent.

Without a word between the two, Cameron fell back to take point while Oliver leaned over and made quick work of the lock. The door popped open and the two men nudged it wide.

The scene before them made them gape in shock.

Everything, torn to pieces. Furniture, cooking supplies, Christmas decorations...

“What-” Cameron stepped into the apartment, expression dazed, when Oliver grabbed his arm and spun him round.

“Search for any sign of them. I'm going to go see if there's a trail I can follow. Whether or not you find anything, head straight to the nearest safe house and send word. Jean-Luc needs to know that something’s gone wrong, that someone may have taken Ginger and Renée.”

Cameron nodded mutely, turning back to the apartment with purpose. Oliver was out the door and down the hallway, already gone.

~-/-~

Renée clung tightly to her mother's hand. Her mother....not Ginger, her mother.

Yesterday she had been alone in this world. But today...today she didn't have to be.

She wanted this to be real.

And for ten minutes, it was.

For ten minutes, they were strolling through the quiet morning streets of New Orleans, headed off to fight for their little Remy. For ten minutes they walked through the silent, winter fog, watching buildings loom suddenly out of the misty gloom, only to disappear from sight as they carried onward.

For ten minutes, Renée allowed herself to believe that things would work out.

But there was no one tailing them from the Thieves Guild this time. And as they wandered up and down streets, weaving their way closer and closer to the meeting place appointed by ‘Oliver”, Renée came to an awful realization.

They were going beyond the border that the Thieves wouldn't cross.

Renée couldn't ignore it any longer.

Whoever Ginger was going to meet, they weren't from the Guild.

She opened her mouth, about to halt Ginger before they walked any further into the trap, when Renée felt something unmistakable, something she hadn't felt in a lifetime.

Killing intent.

It choked her, pressing down on her mind in a miasma of fear.

The culmination of the past twenty-four hours crested over Renée's heart and with a silent snap, the barriers in her mind broke.

Killing intent killing intent he was coming he was going to kill her she would die again oh god oh god she didn't want to die-

Out of the swirling morning mists, a shrouded figure walked toward them. Beside Ginger, Renée was frozen.

Ginger felt a little spike of unease, watching the gloomy figure the man cut against the empty street.

But she pushed it aside. She was going to do right by her babies, for maybe the first time in their lives.

“So, this is your daughter,” his voice was smooth and dark, perfectly matching the setting he'd chosen.

A shiver went down Ginger's spine and she stepped a little closer to Renée. She nodded her head sharply and shifted uncomfortably. Wasn't there somewhere they could do this in private? Why hadn't Oliver taken off his hood yet?

Ginger was beginning to foster the first small seeds of doubt when Renée broke out of her grasp and shot off into the swirling mists without warning.

Ginger cried out in alarm, attention swinging fully to her baby girl, “Renée!”

“After her. Bring her in alive,” Oliver barked. Two men materialized from the mists on either side of him, sprinting off in the direction of her child.

Ginger was about to run after when the metallic click of a gun being cocked stopped her.

She watched in confused shock as Oliver pulled a gun from his cloak and aimed it right at her head.

She backed away slowly, tears running down her face.

“O-Oliver, please! D-don't shoot-”

The man shook his head sadly but the gun in his hands didn't waver.

“Sorry, darlin'. It's nothing personal,” his hand tightened and Ginger's eyes widened so much it hurt.

“Please!” Ginger screamed. “I-”

“I have my orders,” the man's eyes hardened and he slowly shook his head. And something in Ginger knew.

This was it. She was going to die here.

Oh god.

She wanted to hold her babies again.

She wanted to run.

She wanted to-

The evening rang with a single, deafening shot.

Ginger screamed as Oliver fell limply to the ground in front of her. She couldn't stop watching, frozen in shock as a dark pool of liquid spread out across the street underneath his unmoving body.

“Ginger?”

Ginger jolted, whirling around to face the man who stood just behind her. His arms were still slightly raised, gun still pointing toward the limp body on the ground. She blinked at him stupidly.

“You're Ginger, right?”

Ginger nodded, unable to speak.

“Ginger, where's your daughter? Where's Renée?”

“Who are you?” Ginger started backing away in fear.

“Oliver, my name’s Oliver. We need to find your daughter. Now,” he didn't wait for her permission. Leaning over, Oliver – the real Oliver – grabbed her hand and forced her into a run.

~-/-~

Renée fled blindly through the fog, animal instinct taking over.

People showed up on her internal radar like warm little blips on the chakra field blanketing the city. Every time one drew close to her she sped up and veered off, doubling back over and under any obstacles in her path until she was hopelessly turned around in the foggy, urban scene.

She couldn’t be sure how much time passed, but eventually she could feel the people chasing her closing in. There were several of them, coming from different directions. They seemed to be trying to head her off, clearly intending to trap her between them in the side streets.

Renée dug deep, putting on one last burst of speed. It was on the very last road that she finally recognized where she was. There was only one street between her and the border of the Thieves territory.

Renée sprinted toward her goal. She could feel her pursuers, hot on her heels. Behind them, even more chakra signatures pinged.

In front of her lay the only hope she had of safety.

Maybe her pursuers knew about the invisible boundary. Maybe they wouldn’t cross it. Maybe the Thieves would come and rescue her.

She could hear two sets of running feet behind her, closing in. She didn’t stop, didn’t even dare to sneak a glance over her shoulder to see how near they really were.

She was almost there.

She turned the last corner and crossed the border, falling to her knees and gulping down huge breaths of air.

And for the first time in her entire five years of life, something finally, finally went in her favor.

The two men stood, at the edge of her vision, half cloaked in the swirling cold. They made no move to draw any closer. They weren’t going to cross the border.

Renée rose on shaky limbs, fear still high in her throat.

The morning was eerily still around them. They lurked there, at the far end of the street, two sinister forms fading in and out of the fog.

Her breath came out in harsh pants, stirring the mist around her face in swirling eddies. She walked backward slowly, eyes never leaving the dark silhouettes at the end of the street.

It was the barest of sounds that made Renée finally turn away from the two men.

There was another figure looming out of the thick fog, long coat billowing out behind him. He walked calmly down the street, trapping Renée in the middle and cutting off all escape.

He stopped a few paces away from her and she finally got a clear look at his face.

Dark hair hung around his shoulders, tied back loosely. Dark brown eyes fixated on the two figures down the street, never glancing in Renée’s direction.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath, every spine straightened.

The Father of the Thieves had arrived.

~-/-~

Oliver shoved Ginger down the cellar stairs, causing the young woman to stumble on the first few steps. With a furtive glance over his shoulder, he jumped down after.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

He was being herded deeper and deeper into Assassin territory, Assassins closing in from three different sides.

He only had seven more rounds and a hunting knife beside that. The woman was a civilian, a complete liability in a fight.

They’d lost the girl, they were probably moments away from capture, and he had no clue if Cameron had ever been able to reach Jean-Luc with his message.

“You shot him,” the woman was rocking back and forth on the cement floor by his feet, trembling. “Oh my god, you killed him. He was- he was gonna-”

“He was gonna shoot you, petite. What in the actual fuck were you doing meeting up with an Assassin? What the hell did he promise you?” Oliver hissed angrily, kneeling next to her.

“Assassins,” her voice was flat.

“Yes, Assassins. Don’t tell me-”

“You’re Oliver?” her voice was small, afraid.

Oliver paused, regarding her warily. “Yes,” he answered slowly. “I’m Oliver. I’m second in command with the Thieves. Cameron - you know Cameron? He’s like my... younger brother. Sort of.”

Ginger started to shake again, giggling nervously.

“You’re Oliver.”

Oliver looked at her tremoring lip, her wide, terrified gaze, tears glistening in her eyes. He took it all in and had a moment of realization.

“You...met someone claiming to be me,” it wasn’t a question.

“You’re Oliver,” Ginger’s eyes were glazing over and Oliver felt a sharp spike of alarm. Ginger looked like she was on the verge of a meltdown, but he had just murdered an Assassin and they were currently hiding in the middle of Assassin territory. “But- but- I followed the address on the card. You’re Oliver? But he said…”

Oliver bit his lip, deliberating.

The sound of running feet cut his line of thinking short. Oliver slapped a large hand over her mouth, muffling her shriek.

His hand tightened around the grip of his gun.

The feet ran past.

They weren’t stopping.

They weren’t coming down the stairs.

Ginger and Oliver didn’t dare to breathe until all sounds of footsteps had faded.

“Something’s happening,” Oliver whispered ominously.

The two of them crouched silently, waiting for something to happen. Ginger could feel her legs beginning to cramp.

She almost screamed on reflex when Oliver squeezed her shoulder. His hand slapped over her mouth again, painfully muffling the sound and she stared at him over the hand, eyes wide and fearful.

He shook his head sternly and released her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed.

“We need to get out of here. Something’s happening,” Oliver tugged her shirt, pulling her up the cement steps and peeking cautiously onto the street beyond.

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Mais,” Oliver’s eyes flickered toward her face before turning back to scan the fog. “We were being chased but…”

They entered the street and immediately Oliver grabbed her hand, pulling her into a light jog.

“We’re not being followed anymore.”

~-/-~

Ginger and Oliver jogged for several minutes before Oliver’s steps faltered, then resumed running smoothly. Ginger noticed and squeezed his hand in fright. What now?

Oliver grunted, pulling her along at a faster stride.

“We have a tail, again.”

Ginger looked wildly over her shoulder, nearly tripping when she saw the hooded figure keeping pace with them.

“Almost there, chére,” Oliver’s voice was calm and annoyingly steady for the amount of running they'd been doing. “When I say run, you need to sprint as fast as you can and not stop, alright?”

Ginger nodded fearfully.

Oliver didn’t voice any of his fears to his traumatized companion.

Because they were being herded again, this time towards the border. The Assassins trailing after them could overtake them easily, but they held back, drifting a hundred yards behind. It wasn’t a tail, it was some kind of escort.

Which begged the question: What were the two of them being escorted to?

“Run.”

~-/-~

Renée had no good options.

To her left was a growing crowd of hooded men, bleeding killing intent.

Behind her was sheer brick wall. She could have scaled it using chakra, once upon another lifetime, but right here, right now, it might as well have been an impenetrable barrier seal.

In front of her a stood seamless row of homes with white, picket fences and cheerful mailboxes.

And to her right stood a man from her nightmares.

She remembered his face, his emotions. She could never forget.

Jean-Luc LeBeau.

Father of the Thieves.

She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t run.

As the Cajuns say: Voila merde.

“We’ve got no quarrel with you, Thief. Give us the little lady and we’ll be on our way,” a hooded figure broke away from the pack, deep voice carrying loudly.

All around the street, bodies were shifting and tensing, something deep inside of everyone present responding to the threat of violence in the man’s voice.

Renée sank to her knees and curled up into a ball. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to turn into a shadow and vanish.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to cry.

“Homme, think very carefully before you break our peace treaty,” Jean-Luc’s voice was deep and calm.

The hooded man’s voice had reached inside to that deep, primitive level of the brain and merely brushed it, but Jeann-Luc’s voice seemed to reach every single flight instinct and flip them on, flooding Renée with adrenaline and making all the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

She watched as the hooded men froze and stiffened.

Jean-Luc calmly walked until he stood next to Renée.

He still hadn’t even looked at her.

Jean-Luc opened his mouth, then shut it just as quickly, teeth clicking audibly.

Out of the ranks of hooded figures came a man with a cane, like a spectre of evil summoned straight from Hell. Around him the hooded men parted in deference. Renée curled tighter into a ball, wanting to disappear.

Because the man with the cane was worse than anyone she'd ever felt. His emotions rose up like a stench, choking out the sun and smothering her in a poison cloud of despair. It was anger and hate, and like dying all over again.

He walked calmly toward them, cane clicking a soft counterpoint against the cobbled street.

No one spoke.

He stopped a few paces away from Jean-Luc and Renée, expression placid.

Perhaps it was the weight of the whole day taking its toll on her mental shields. Perhaps it was her desperate desire for reprieve from this nightmare.

Renée summoned all of the calm, all of the peace she could muster, latched onto the man with the cane, and pushed.

She'd only influenced people a few times with her empathy in the past, and it was always before she'd perfected building up her mental shields. It was strange taking a manufactured feeling, throwing it at another person and watching it stick.

But when she threw calm and peace at the man with the cane, she watched in horror as it slid off, like water on oil. His mind was an inky pit of evil, too vast to be touched by her gift.

He didn't even flinch.

“Mistah LeBeau, so good to see you again. And how are things on your side of town?”

Renée closed her eyes as the man spoke, swallowing back the ball of fear in her throat.

Jean-Luc growled, actually growled, before he schooled his face into a calm expression. “My man. You have him.”

“Ah yes, the behemoth,” the man brought his cane in front of him and leaned against it, the metal serpent's head gleaming brightly.

“Raymond...” Jean-Luc's voice held a hint of warning.

“I'm afraid we're going to have a bit of a problem, you see, because earlier this morning your behemoth was found inside Assassin territory. Killing my man.”

Jean-Luc twitched, but didn't respond.

“So you see,” Raymond trailed off, gesturing vaguely with one hand.

“My mom,” Renée said it so quietly that she thought they would miss it.

Both men turned down to look at her, as if finally noticing she was there.

“Your mother?” Raymond said curiously at the same moment that Jean-Luc gestured sharply at her and barked, “Don't.”

Renée cowered, falling silent once more.

Raymond tilted his head, reminding her of a reptile. Renée looked down at her knees, unable to hold his gaze, and when she didn't expand Raymond feigned a moment of realization.

“Ah yes, the red-head. Is that your mommy, little lady?”

Jean-Luc's legs blocked Renée's vision as he stepped in front of her, shielding her from view.

“I want them, Assassin. Both of them,” his voice was cold.

Raymond's eyes were calculating, but after a long pause he raised his hand in a beckoning gesture.

Three figures broke rank and started walking down the street towards them.

Two men and one very ginger woman.

Jean-Luc looked like he was vibrating with repressed emotion, but he held his tongue as they approached. When they were near enough that they could make out features through the thick fog, Ginger took one look at the scene and gasped, running forward.

“Renée!” she ran right up to Renée, headless of the two men, and fell to her knees, throwing her arms around her daughter with a sob.

Raymond made a tsk-ing noise, rubbing his knuckles. “How...touching.”

Jean-Luc couldn't take his eyes off of Oliver, who remained next to his Assassin escort. They locked eyes and Jean-Luc's heart dropped.

Oliver wore a soft, sad look, smiling around the gag in his mouth, his eyes speaking volumes.

No.

Not again.

Jean-Luc clenched his hands, hoping to stop the tremoring before the Assassins noticed.

“My man,” he grunted, glaring at Raymond.

“Ah,” Raymond inspected his nails carefully with a sniff, “I do believe I mentioned something about that-”

“You filthy puta-”

Renée tried to calm down, tried to slow her breathing. There was so much anger, so much rage rising up in the air. It was like being smothered, like drowning, like not having air or breath or hope.

Raymond raised his hand slowly and behind him the Assassin pulled out a gun, pointing it execution style at the back of Oliver's head. Oliver closed his eyes, face peaceful.

“Raymond!” Jean-Luc roared, body tensing.

Renée squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to Ginger. Oh this was so bad, so bad. Things were about to combust and she was helpless and- and-

“I'm terribly sorry, Mistah LeBeau, but surely you realize your position here. He broke the treaty. Blood must be spilled to even the debt, or it could mean war,” Raymond managed to look genuinely apologetic when he said it. Renée wanted to vomit.

“If you lay a finger on him, I will kill you,” Jean-Luc's face looked thunderous, like death itself.

Raymond threw his head back and laughed. “What are you going to do? There are a dozen of the best Assassins in the country currently standing on this street and there are two of you. Are you going to beat a dozen of us with two Thieves?”

“No,” Jean-Luc drew himself up, voice dropping softly, “I'll beat you with one.”

Raymond's eyes narrowed, face twisting hideously. He leaned forward with a sneer, “He killed one of my men. He crossed the border. Damages will be paid or-”

“The fake Oliver did that first,” Ginger hiccuped around the words, voice rough from crying, but she was glaring up at Raymond in an admirable show of bravery.

Jean-Luc whipped around, all pretense of calmness gone, “What did you say?”

Raymond scoffed and raised his hand. “Simon,” he called, and behind him the Assassin flicked the safety off and moved his finger to the trigger.

“Wait! You're not allowed to cross the borders, right?” Ginger stood on shaky legs, eyes darting around wildly between the men, settling on the gun in the Assassin's hand and widening in fear.

“Oui,” Jean-Luc grabbed her by the shoulder, squeezing urgently. “Did the Assassins cross first?”

“Amusing as this all is-”

“Ginger! Did they cross first?!”

“Yes! They did!” Ginger's words carried, and Raymond snarled, lowering his hand slowly.

All around them Renée felt the pressure of interest rising, as the conversation drew the audience in. Everyone seemed to be waiting on Ginger to continue, and she did with growing conviction.

“I was going to meet with the Thieves-”

“On Acoin Street?” Jean-Luc interrupted her impatiently.

“Yes, that place that was on your card. When I went there, your man,” she shoved a finger in Raymond's face and Renée felt her heart stop, felt the impulse to jump up and slap her mother's finger down. Didn't the woman realize how deadly that man was? “Your man tricked me into crossing the border. And he was going to kill me!”

Raymond leaned back and considered his words, before smiling genially and shrugging, “Ah, I suppose that may be true. But he is dead now, so that debt has been paid. Unfortunately, the Thieves debt still remains, so-”

The Assassin squeezed the trigger, preparing to fire, when Jean-Luc yelled “The card! Ginger!” He whirled her around, shouting in her face frantically. “You came to my outpost? With a calling card?”

Raymond's eyes widened in alarm and Ginger nodded in confusion.

“Were you coming to find me? For a job?”

“Well, I-” Ginger stammered over her reply and Jean-Luc shook her shoulders a bit, talking over her loudly.

“A job! You wanted me for a job, right? Right?!”

Ginger's eyes widened slowly before her gaze darted over to look at Raymond's furious scowl. She looked at Jean-Luc, then back at Raymond then back at Jean-Luc before slowly saying, “Uh, y- yes. A...job. I wanted you for a job.”

Jean-Luc kissed her, laughing and spun on Raymond with a toothy grin.

“Well, mon ami, it seems we're in a bit of a pickle, doesn't it? Because you are currently in debt to me.”

Ginger glanced between the two men uncertainly, backing away to shield Renée once more.

Renée could feel a panic attack coming on, because the oily blackness of Raymond's soul began to rise, boiling to the surface in a sickening surge.

Jean-Luc swung his arms cheekily, fairly skipping over to the Assassin with the gun and jauntily poking the end of the gun until it pointed up and away from Oliver's head.

“Your man endangered a client, which supersedes all border laws. As such, you owe me. And I know just the price I'd like you to pay,” Jean-Luc continued cheerfully, untying Oliver's hands and relieving him of the gag around his mouth.

“It's true, sadly,” Oliver said brightly as soon as his mouth was free.

Raymond looked between the two Theives and made an aborted movement, before the anger in his expression slowly melted away, leaving a placid mask once more.

“How wonderful that we could settle this so quickly. Until next time, Mistah LeBeau,” Raymond lifted his cane in a small salute and turned.

As one, the Assassins started to melt back into the fog until only four people were left on the street.

“Oh,” Ginger said softly. “Well...”

“Not here,” Jean-Luc's voice was strained.

Oliver nodded, scooping Renée up and following after. Renée went limp in his arms, utterly spent. This day could not end soon enough, and it had only just begun.

Ginger trailed tiredly behind them. With one last look down the street, Jean-Luc turned and hurried after.

~-/-~

The door of the safe house shut with a soft click behind them.

Ginger sank into a puffy arm-chair with a sigh, body relaxing. Oliver stood next to her, cuddling Renée's head against his chest, watching Jean-Luc knowingly. Jean-Luc lurked just inside the door, face tense.

“You have to leave.”

Ginger opened her eyes and pouted at Jean-Luc, bottom lip sticking out childishly. “After the day we just had? Fuck you. I'm gonna rest before I head back home. And another thing, my son-” Ginger sat up, gaining steam for what promised to be an epic fight when Jean-Luc cut her off sharply.

“No, you have to leave. Not leave this house, leave New Orleans.”

A stunned silence followed his statement.

“Permanently. And immediately, if possible,” Jean-Luc crossed the room and began to lift a phone on the desk, fingers dialing nimbly.

Ginger watched him, color draining from her face, mouth opening and closing several times.

“We can't- leave? What do you- Why? What?” the questions seemed to tumble out of her in a rush, fighting for immediacy.

“Chére,” Jean-Luc slammed the phone down loudly, making everyone in the room jump, before he leaned on the desk and continued in a soft, dangerous voice, “You just angered the deadliest man you will ever meet.”

Ginger swallowed audibly.

“Raymond Boudreaux has killed more people than you have ever met in your entire life. He is held in check by a very small, very breakable code of laws. You have just robbed him of something he wants - badly. And if there's anything that Raymond hates....it's a thief. You need to run, and you need to run now.”

The room remained silent in the wake of Jean-Luc's speech and after a beat, he picked up the phone, dialing once more.

After a moment of ringing, the other line picked up and Jean-Luc growled, “Wake everyone up. We've got a job.”


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9- Paths and Escapes   
By Tsuki

When given two paths,  
take the third.  
Fight for your own way.  
It doesn’t matter what you’ve heard  
or what they might say.  
Yours is the only path to take

It was chaos. Absolute chaos. There were men running around the room, flitting from one corner to the next in a near panic as Jean-Luc stood in the center like a monolith of calm and order. Ginger was sure that if she could, she would slap him for having the audacity to be so collected when he was sending her and her baby away from their home. Fortunately for him, she was still trying to understand what on Earth had just happened. One minute she was on her way to get her baby back, the next she was running for her life with a man who claimed to be the man who had just tried to kill her! Now she was in a house, God only knows where, being yelled at and pushed around as strangers sat around deciding what was going to happen to her. Ginger might have been in shock, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know what was happening. She knew just what was going on, and she didn’t like it one bit. Now if only she could manage to do something about it.

As the clock starts counting down,  
You see the world pass by.  
You are stuck, can’t make a sound,  
Can’t do a thing, though you try

26 hours 38 minutes

~-/-~

She was standing on pure willpower now, or maybe she wasn’t. Renee wasn’t all too aware of her own body at the moment, or really much of anything. The adrenaline had worn off long ago and now she was stuck being exhausted at a point in time when she was fairly sure she couldn't afford to be. She felt like she was drifting, sort of suspended in space as everything moved around her. It felt like her mind was racing, trying to analyze all that had happened within the past 24 hours. Between the exhaustion that comes from not resting her young body and the crash from the adrenalin high, Renee was ready to just pass out on her feet. So ready in fact that...

Slowly, surely time slips away  
As consciousness fades,  
Gone is the chance of yesterday  
Left only is tomorrow's ways

25 hours 59 minutes

~-/-~

They didn’t know what was really going on, how this drug addict, former or otherwise, could be so important to The Father. That he would give her and her child an entirely new life. It made no sense to them, especially considering that she almost got Oliver killed. In the end it really didn’t matter if the decision was confusing or not to them, because The Father had made a decision. They would simply go along with it and hope that he knew exactly what he was doing. 

They were just about to tell him that the car had arrived when suddenly the little girl crumpled onto the floor. They privately thought that it was a good thing, they were never much good with kids and the black eyes, which reminded them so much of little Remy but were so much more unnerving, that stared blankly at everything, seeing and not seeing...

They shuddered, yes it was much better that she was unconscious now, even if her mother was freaking out again. It was a good thing she seemed to trust Cameron enough to let him calm her down, they would have to remember to poke fun at him for that later and give him a hard time about his mysterious girlfriend. For all the fact that Cameron couldn’t keep anything else a secret, the identity of his girlfriend was such a well kept secret that those who didn’t know him all that well were beginning to think that she didn’t exist. With a shake of their head they returned to their task, and informed The Father that his car was out front. He gruffly nodded and began to finish up his call, quietly informing them that they should begin to assist getting the little girl in the car. She was light, lighter than Remy, and when asleep seemed so much younger. 

As Cameron steered the woman towards the car, they contemplated the child for a moment longer. It wasn’t just her eyes that looked like Little Remy’s. Her face looked startlingly similar, and now that he thought about it the woman shared a few prominent features with the Guild's resident troublemaker. If they didn’t know any better they would say that she was... No, it couldn’t be, what a strange thought to have. 

They picked up the child carefully and brought them out to the car, passing her to Cameron who placed her in the center seat in the back. Briefly they considered asking, asking about her and if she might be... 

But the chance was gone, for out the door walked Jean-Luc and there was no way they could ever ask such a question while The Father was there. The driver opened the passenger's side door and he slipped inside. They gave a brief greeting to the driver and went back inside to finish the arrangements for Oliver’s transport. 

It took half an hour to do so and in that time they were sure they overheard at least twelve separate cases of Oliver blackmailing various individuals. When his motorcycle finally arrived, it almost seemed like the proper riding attire just appeared on his body. Which, was made even more confusing by the fact that they were so sure that they hadn’t even brought clothes for him... As they watched Oliver drive off they turned to their fellow thief and asked, “Did you give him the riding gear?”

Unobservant, unaware,  
Just finish up and go,  
Do not question what happened there  
It’s not for you to know

25 hours 20 minutes

~-/-~

Mrs. La Velle was having a grand old time. She was on her couch tucked between two cats, petting her beloved Simon, just enjoying their company. It was the perfect way to start her morning. At least it was until all her babies started getting agitated. Frowning she carefully got up. Taking Simon with her, she made her way to the door. Putting her eye up to the peephole she took a glance out into the hall in an attempt to figure out what was irritating everyone. It took her a few moments, but she did figure out what it was that was bugging her babies so much. There were three men going in and out of one of the other appartments. With a mighty frown she set down Simon on a scratching post and opened up the door. 

“Why are you boys making such a ruckus this time in the morn’?”

The men froze and turned to face her, then to each other, their faces smoothing out into charming smiles and quirky grins, as if they were doing nothing wrong.

“We’re s’posed to pack up everything in this apartment ma’am.”

“Now that can’t be right, Ginger’s paid her rent and she hasn’t done a thin’ to get her and her girl kicked out. I should know, I own the place.”

“Well ma’am, we were hired by the Misses herself. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout the who’s or the why’s. Just when, where and what.”

“Well boys, I haven’t been told ‘bout any plans to move by the dear girl, so I suppose we...” She leveled her sternest look at the three of them, her wrinkles creasing to make it a most impressive glare, “Are at an impasse.”

The youngest of the three shifted uncomfortably in place, still keeping a hold on his burden. The eldest took a glance at them, then back at her, “I don’t believe so.” He turns back to look at the other two, “Keep packing, we need to get this done quick as we can.”

“Oh no you don’t! That girl don’t need no trouble from thieves! She has it hard enough!” She hiked up her skirts and marched her way right on over to them, “I. Will. Have. None, of this foolishness going on..” She lifted a leg and began to kick at his shins, “In!”, kick, “My!”, kick, “Building!” She was about to begin kicking again when she heard someone coming up the stairs. 

“Mrs. La velle?”

She turned her head and saw Ginger standing at the end of the hall. Dropping her skirts she turned around and smiled at her, her wrinkles falling back in place as gently as her skirts “Oh hello dear, sorry about this, I was just telling these young men about the rules here.”

Unassuming, little old me  
You’ll find behind the facade  
Why even the toughest of men in mili’try   
Run from this old broad

25 hours

~-/-~

Laura was a woman of impeccable taste, and it showed. She knew how to dress and present herself in a way that was enticing, but not desperate. A wonderful skill in her chosen line of work if you asked her. Being a person with wonderful tastes also carried over into the relationships she formed, that’s why when she found herself actually getting attached to Ginger, she was surprised. Ginger had started out as some hopeless lost cause she had taken under her wing out of pity. Somehow, somewhere along the way Ginger had become less of a charity case, and more of a friend. Now she was practically family. 

So if Laura got with Mrs. La Velle, the owner of the apartment Ginger lived in, in order to help her out, well nobody could say anything about it now could they? It was because of the fact that she had become so close to Ginger that she noticed how strung out her friend was getting. She did what she could, but she was never the greatest at taking care of others. She used to think she was good at not worrying unnecessarily about people, but after not seeing or hearing from Ginger all yesterday, despite it being Christmas... She had proven herself wrong. She was still very worried about her friend, but she really didn’t want to seem strange by going up to her apartment to check on her. So when Ginger showed up at her place, even more tired than usual and with a sad sort of smile on her face, Laura didn’t even think twice about inviting her in for something to drink. She sat Ginger down at the table and brought both of their drinks.

“I thought you were going to come over yesterday for dinner?”

Ginger looked up at her, “I was, but somethin’ came up that I couldn’t miss.” She looked back down into her cup and muttered, “Though I truly wish I did.” 

Laura placed a hand on Gingers shoulder and asked, “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Ginger gnawed at her lip, still looking down into her cup, and then she began to talk, and talking turned to rambling, and rambling turned into sobbing. All Laura could do was stay there and listen, trying to assure her that everything would be okay. By the time Ginger had finished she had ruined one of Laura’s shirts beyond any hope of redemption along with her tablecloth. 

“Feel better now?” Asked Laura with a gentle smile.

Ginger nodded and wiped her face, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to come here and just start bawling my eyes out.”

“I would think not. Speaking of, what did you come here for?”

Ginger opened her mouth, but then closed it. She took a deep breath, “I don’t really know how to say it. Silly considerin’ I just said so much, but... I’m leavin’ Laura... I can’t stay in New Orleans, not anymore. I don’t know where I’m goin’ but I do know I can’t be comin’ back... I’m here to say goodbye, cause I don’t know if I will ev’r get to see you again.”

“Oh darlin’ Of course you’ll see me! What kind of friend would I be if I just let you go off to some strange new town without checking in on you. So you better be sendin’ me a letter quick as you can!”

Ginger gave a wet sort of giggle, “Quick as I can. I promise.”

Laura nodded approvingly and then nudged Ginger, “What about one last song before you go off on your new adventure?” 

Ginger nodded and Laura began to sing,

“Hold me close and hold me fast  
The magic spell you cast  
This is la vie en rose”

They sang together till the end and when they were done Ginger said goodbye and Laura watched her get into a car with some men she had never seen before, and drive off. 

“You best be taking care of my little sister and her baby girl,” she mumbled to herself as they drove out of sight. 

Dearest friend, Sing with me  
Your voice I’ll surely miss  
Even if it takes an eternity  
I’ll take care of my little sis

22 hours 45 minutes

~-/-~

Vicky was not an emotional person, she simply had no time for them. Now that didn’t mean she had no emotions, it just meant that she didn’t bother sharing them with the world. Why would she? Unfortunately, not being an emotional person was not helping her in this situation. Ginger had been working for her for... Oh, over a year now... and though lately she had been taking less shifts in an attempt to bond with her little girl, Vicky was not ready for her to suddenly quit on her and even less ready for her to say that she would be leaving town. She could say with confidence that she had just about figured that girl out, and there was no way Ginger would be doing this without a damned good reason. 

She couldn't just outright ask, not with all these customers around. However, Vicky had been getting information from people without them realizing far too long now not to be able to figure this all out without bringing attention to the fact that she was worried. It didn't take long for Vicky to figure out that Ginger had been caught up in something big, though exactly what she didn't know. Big enough that she had to leave town right away. Well, if her girl was in trouble it just wouldn't do for her to let her leave without giving her one last bit of help.

"Well then, if you really got to be going let me give you your last tip" Vicky walked over to the register and pulled out a large amount of cash, then handed it to Ginger, "Take care of yourself girl, and don't let no one push you round," and that was that.

Quickly, swiftly do what you should  
Emotions don’t need to be shown  
Give her a tip, she’ll do good  
As she sets off on her own

19 hours, 56 minutes

~-/-~

Dianne Fable was the best Runner in all New Orleans. She also happened to keep all the other Runners in line, so when a message needed to be Ran to The Father, she was the obvious choice. It took her only ten minutes to find him, the first time. Then she was sent back with another message, or rather an entire list of orders. They were strange orders too. Why would he need to get Remy out of the Manor for a couple of days? More importantly why did he need Mrs. Marie to go with him? It just didn't make sense. She still delivered the message, word for word, confusing as it was.

Then rather than being sent on a different errand, like she usually would, she was given another message to Run to Jean-Luc. She wasn't complaining, but it was odd. It took her a bit longer to find him this time, he had changed locations and it was never easy to find him without a general idea where he was. Once again she gave the message and once more she was sent back with a reply. Then it happened again, and again, with each message being slightly more odd then the last. It was a great relief when she was finally sent back with the message of, "I'll be home soon, make sure everything is ready." She may have been the best Runner, but even she gets tired after an all out sprint around the city!

A girl, a Runner,who never shall fail  
Someone who loves to Dream  
Shall share message and tale  
while keeping track of her team

16 hours 19 minutes

~-/-~

Etienne was a smart boy. He knew when something important was going on, and today something really important was happening around the Manor. It seemed like everybody was rushing around trying to get something done. That was fine, that happened all the time, but this time nobody would tell him anything about what they were doing! Remy had been sent on a trip with Mama and he was sure the only reason he wasn’t sent along was because they couldn’t spare anyone to make sure he and Remy wouldn’t get into any trouble. It was weird! Everybody was hiding things and moving things around to the point that the Manor looked completely different from normal!

When Uncle came home he brought somebody with him, but Etienne wasn’t allowed to meet them, even though he really wanted to! So, he did what any proper thief would do, he waited ‘til everyone was asleep to sneak about the Manor and try to find the people Uncle brought home. It was easy to sneak around, so long as you knew where the squeaky boards were. Everybody knew where they were because nobody wanted to accidentally wake anyone up trying to sneak food from the kitchen late at night. An unexpected groan surprised him as one of the old floorboards creaked. He swung around to face the direction it came from, ready but not really, to face his Uncle who had surely caught him sneaking about. However, it wasn’t Uncle, it was a girl frozen in shock, about Remy’s size, with dark red hair and black eyes, like Remy’s but green! Etienne grins wickedly, this must be one of the people Uncle brought home! This was perfect! He waves at the girl and quietly says, 

“Hi, I’m Etienne.”

The girl remains silent for a while before finally she relaxes, when she does he can’t help but wonder why the board doesn’t squeak more, but that thought is pushed away when she responds with a voice quiet as a mouse, “Renee.”

Renee, that was a pretty name! Now to figure out why Uncle brought her to the Manor. “Soooooo, what are you doing here?”

Renee gave no response, just stared at him silently. Okay, that didn’t work, maybe something else. “Did Uncle adopt you too?” 

Renee’s eyes drifted to the side. Etienne looked that way but didn’t see anything. What was she looking at? Was it all the way at the end of the hall? 

“Hey!” He waved his hand in front of her face. She slowly blinked and focused her black eyes on him.

A curious boy wanders his home  
In order to meet someone new  
What he discovered as he did roam  
Was a secret and a mystery too

10 hours 27 minutes

~-/-~

Renee was not pleased. She had passed out this morning in the wake of her adrenaline rush and had slept the day away, effectively squandering any chance of escape from Jean-Luc that might have shown itself to her. There was one bright side to it she supposed, she had been brought right to the thieves Manor, allowed inside and had been left unsupervised. She was free to roam the halls without any interference. To top it all off, other than being really hungry, she felt fantastic. 

So she set out, opening the door as carefully as she could, to keep it from squeaking too much, and then, with far more difficulty than she would have liked, she used the catsfoot she had learned so long ago, to ghost across the halls. She knew where she was of course, it was the only real possibility after all, she was in the home of the Thieves. She was in Remy’s home, and if she was oh so very lucky, he might still be here. If not, well now that she knows what it looks like, and maybe later, if she was lucky where exactly it was, she could come back.

Alas, she let herself get a bit too lost in thought and made a mistake, causing a board to creak. She froze and noticed far too late that there was someone else wandering the halls. They spun around to face her, then stopped, and for just a second, he looked surprised, and then his face morphed into the biggest of grins. 

He waves and whispered, “Hi, I’m Etienne.”

It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for Renee to finally relax and respond to the unspoken question, “Renee.”

She had, foolishly, hoped that was the end of their conversation, but he continued, “Soooooo, what are you doing here?”

She stared at him blankly, hoping that he would become unnerved and go away.

He was not deterred, “Did Uncle adopt you too?” 

Uncle? Who in the world would... Oh. He must know Remy, seen his eyes and thought that Jean-Luc had taken her in as well. 

She must have gotten lost in thought again because she never noticed the young boy, blonde, brownish eyes, need to remember, walk up to her until he was waving his hand in front of her face. She blinked slowly a couple of times and was about to make some kind of response when her stomach spoke for itself. 

As soon as it did the grin was back and he was taking her hand jabbering quietly about showing her the kitchen and the safe way to get here and ‘why didn’t you tell me you were hungry?’

So it was that with great reluctance she was dragged to the kitchen, and taught the proper way to get there without waking anyone up.

“You have to avoid all the squeaky boards, and you can’t go down that hall because it is full of pranks that everybody puts up to mess with anyone who forgets, or sleepwalks. It is really funny to see, but not so fun to be in.”

He went on and on about the little things in the house, which, while great for information gathering, was not so great for her nerves. Finally, they reached the kitchen, she was fully prepared to grab something and make her escape to explore more of the house on her own, but unfortunately they were not alone in their midnight wanderings.

Inside the kitchen was a handful of thieves, chatting quietly and having midnight snacks. She really wanted to blow something up. The thieves fawned over the two of them, getting them food and something to drink and made sure that she ate her fill. When she was finally satisfied she found that she wasn’t as awake as she had initially thought, she was ready to fall back asleep and she privately cursed her child body for needing so much rest. She was given no chance to escape as the people in the kitchen took it upon themselves to escort her and Etienne to their respective rooms. She had planned to feign sleep long enough for them to go away so she could once again escape, but nothing ever went to plan when you were a Lucky Seven and she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

Come awake oh tired child,  
Discover what's around,  
Be wary of the one who smiled,  
and tread carefully cross the ground

9 hours 50 minutes

~-/-~

It was almost time. The three of them stood in front of the train, waiting for their turn to board. Renee was squeezing her mother's hand feeling every bit of her bodies age as she worried about the little things, trying not to dwell on what was about to happen, the choice she had made. To stay with her mother, or to keep on with her quest to find her brother. It was hard, but she had made her choice and here she was. With her mother and a stranger, about to board the train that would forever be marked as a turning point in her life. The entire way through the station was a blur, she was more focused on agonizing on whether or not this was the right decision. Between that and comforting her mother, who was once again coming to the realization of what doing all this meant, she had no time to pay attention to the color or the tiles, or how many buttons were on the ticket masters uniform. Soon enough they were on the train and seated, the thief who had been sent to keep Renee’s mother safe had gotten up to check out the train, in order to ensure there were not, unwanted passengers aboard. Renee turned to her mother and smiled sadly, “I’m going to miss home.”

Ginger sighs and looks out the window, “I will too... I’m so sorry, about all of this. I-I...”

Renee gives her mother a hug, “I forgive you.” She continues hugging for a while, until the announcer informs those outside the train, via intercom, that their train was about to depart. This was it.

She tightened her grip on the woman who had finally proven herself to be a mother and whispered, “I love you, and... I’m sorry...” Before letting go and racing off, jumping off the train right before it began to move, leaving her mother and her new caretaker behind. She had made her decision, and as much as she cared for Ginger, she just couldn’t leave without ever seeing her little brother again. With determination she made her way out of the station. It was the first day of the rest of her life.

Fare thee well, and goodbye  
The choice was already made  
My only apology is that I lied   
Not that I stayed.

0 hours 0 minutes


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Setting Up Shop  
by Tylerbamafan 34

‘This isn’t ideal’ Renee thought to herself. ‘But It'll do for now’. 

She was perched at the window of an abandoned apartment building. New Orleans was full of places like this, battered as it was by storms. These large complexes sometimes sat abandoned for decades or longer. Most of the time however, they would quickly become inhabited by people with nowhere else to go, people who were desperate, or people who simply needed to disappear. 

She was the latter. She needed to vanish into the depths of the city, avoid the eyes of the thieves and the assassins. At least until she was ready for them. She knew that even if she were at her old skill level, her body was not able to keep up with the demands she would make of it.

Thus, her scouting for a training ground after leaving her mother behind.

She winced at the pang of guilt that stabbed her but resolutely stuffed it into a far corner of her mind, she’d made her choice and she’d take the consequences… come hell or high water.

Still, this place would serve its purposes as a base. A place for her to scout around the city and search for the Thieves Guild. She frowned. I’ve got a lot to do… she mused idly, glancing around the complex that used to be known as Rossei Freemont. Set up traps, create a fire pit, and so, so much more. 

She cracked her neck, and rolled her shoulders Time to go to work. 

It wasn’t easy work, and her progress was hampered by her small size, but she was aware of the process, and that was half the work, after all, she had one this a Thousand times, she could do it a thousand more, and was able to avoid injuring herself because of it. Eventually she’d have to go into town and steal what she needed but for now, she could make do with the necessities. She’d done it often enough.

She had decided to take the corner furthest away from the entrance of the complex, and riddle the area with traps. Simple traps, like deadfalls and snares, were second nature and the fact that they didn’t require chakra merely made more intuitive to use and adjust for her circumstances, and to install in certain areas. The rotting wood was an issue, but easily rectified and made to look new and lull people into thinking it had been renovated, or was on its way to that. 

Snares and tripwires were placed at entrances and windows, and she was easily able to create smoke bombs with different materials like flour and coal dust. Anyone who tried to enter via a window, would be in for a nasty surprise.

A fire pit was quickly set up, and while it was not anything particularly pretty, she could destroy it easily if she was discovered here. She’d even managed to set up a hammock in the farthest corner of the building. 

She eventually found a clock tower nearby, one that was clearly decades old and hadn’t been maintained in at least ten years, if her instincts were right, and she decided to use the area behind the clock itself as an intel room, storing books and papers and notes of the city high above the city, where only she could get to them. 

She unfurled a map across the back wall and taped it to the wall, thumb tacks were used to mark important landmarks in the city, and she was quick to add her temporary home to the map. She leaned back, satisfied with what she’d accomplished.

Renee began scouting the city, using high points like cathedrals and monuments to scan the city and memorize the grid. She noted locations like libraries, hospitals, schools. and the like.

Time passed quickly after she got set up, her days were a blur of training, study, and recon. Her body needed to be conditioned again, for running, climbing, falling, and endurance. She used the city as her own personal training ground, learning to escape into the city’s crowds, and disappear into the dark alleyways. Days became weeks, weeks became months, and as her skills and knowledge grew… so too did she.

Until at last, at last, she had a lead.

**Author's Note:**

> "Ta gueule" = Literally translates as something like "your muzzle". It is a rude and shortened way of telling someone to "shut up".
> 
> "Mausoleum" = A small, ornate building usually found in a graveyard, used to store bodies in 'above ground' burials.
> 
> "Putain" = A diverse curse word that can change meaning, depending on how it's used. To call someone "putain" is to call them a "whore". To use it as an expletive it's akin to saying "Shit!" or "Fuck!" or "Dammit!".
> 
> "Conards/Conard" = A very derogatory term. Comparable to calling someone a "motherfucker" or a "cunt".
> 
> "Krewe" = A Krewe is a social club that plays an important role during Mardi Gras festivities. Krewes are famous for designing and parading their own floats, hosting grand parties often called 'Krewe Balls', and helping to maintain their communities and their historical culture. Joining a Krewe often requires a rite of passage, much like joining a fraternity or sorority.
> 
> "Petite" = Literally translated, it means "little". Can be used as an affectionate term for someone who is younger or smaller than you.
> 
> "Cher/Cherie" = Literally translated, it means "dear/dearie". Cher is often used as a general term of address by Cajuns, when speaking with each other. Equivalent to some English folks using 'love' as in 'What will it be, love?'.
> 
> "The Big Easy" = A nickname for the city of New Orleans, Louisiana.


End file.
